Coming to Terms
by xenzen
Summary: Post KoTOR, Ch. 67: Carth barely kept the shout from escaping his lips: No, you can't! You're not going anywhere near any bombs! Or you're grounded! For life! I mean it, mister!
1. Confessions

**Chapter 1: Confessions**

Revan waited quietly in a small, spartan chamber. The walls were painted white, with no furnishings but for the chair she sat on, a desk with an inactive console and a light fixture. She wondered idly if they were monitoring her, and perhaps wondering why she wasn't pacing in anxiety. She smiled inwardly. Her face, however, never wavered from the serene expression it held.

The door chimed and slid open soundlessly. A protocol droid leaned in and beckoned to Revan respectfully. "Jedi Revan, the High Council has summoned you. They are waiting for you in the Council Chamber." The droid stepped aside and bowed.

Revan slid to her feet gracefully. She straightened her robes and touched a hand to her lightsaber. That the Council had not taken it from her said... much. She stepped out and followed the droid.

The Council Chamber was filled with the sussuration of quiet conversation; the large vault made the sounds echo endlessly, making it seem as if there were more people than there were.

Silence descended abruptly when the doors opened, and all eyes turned to the slight figure that emerged. There was no sound but for the tak-takking of her boots as she walked across the wide expanse of the blindingly-white marble floor.

Eyes searched her face intently, looking for they knew not what, but her expression revealed nothing but serenity. Force senses were strained to the utmost to detect the least amount of anger, hostility or fear, but there was nothing but calm. Eyebrows were raised, surprise otherwise expressed if they had none.

The woman halted within speaking distance of the assembled High Council.

Master Vandar stood and spoke to Revan. "Jedi Revan. You are called here today before the High Council to present your side of the events, from the _Endar Spire_ and all that transpired, leading up to and including the Star Forge." His slightly raspy voice was Force-projected to all the corners of the Chamber.

"Do I stand in judgment, Masters?" asked Revan quietly. Her voice, too, was projected to all ears. Surprise again registered on faces when they realized her voice did not benefit from Force amplification. Revan's gaze passed from one end of the room to the other. Each Jedi there would swear they felt her gaze alight momentarily on him.

"No. We simply wish to hear your account, specifically your thoughts and feelings, since we already know in detail your actions and how events actually transpired," said another Master, one unknown to Revan.

Revan had raised a skeptical eyebrow, but shrugged and nodded agreement to his request. She settled herself more comfortably on her feet, taking an at-ease pose; feet slightly apart, hands clasped loosely behind her back.

She began her recitation. She spoke of the _Endar Spire_, of how she had felt mostly fear and anger when she found that the ship was under bombardment and had been boarded by the Sith. Fear, rage and frustration when Trask Ulgo, her companion on the mad scramble to the bridge was killed by a Dark Jedi, Darth Bandon so that she could escape. Relief at meeting a friendly face at the escape pods and of not being alone on an unknown planet. Gratitude towards Carth Onasi, who had retrieved her unconscious body from the escape pod.

Throughout Revan's speech, her face never wavered from its mask of serenity. The assembled Masters marveled inwardly at that. There was still no anger that they could sense in her aura.

Revan was now speaking of the time after they had escaped from the _Leviathan_. The mask finally cracked a little, revealing the remembered pain of her revelation. Despite the training they have had and used all their lives to maintain a calm facade in the face of any situation, some Masters shifted a little uncomfortably.

"I will tell you all the truth, Masters, that I have not even told all of my closest companions on the quest for the Star Forge. Only one of them knows the entire dark truth of it all. Not even Bastila knows the whole of it."

_ Revan sat on the floor of the cargo bay in the _Ebon Hawk_, hands grasping her hair, looking as if she was ready to pull out entire hanks by the roots. Her face was an agonized rictus, mouth open in a long, silent scream, eyes closed tight. Tears had made trails through the grime, sweat and dried blood on her face. She had not cleaned up after the scrambling flight from the _Leviathan_. Most of the blood was not hers. _

_ Her hand went automatically to her vest pocket and stopped abruptly when she realized what she was doing. She clenched her hand into a fist and slammed it into the wall. The dull, meaty thud seemed to reverberate throughout the entire ship.The hand was already bloody and bruised from when she had slammed it against the wall repeatedly. She welcomed the pain. It felt better than the void she felt in her heart. _

_ Booted footsteps sounded outside in the corridor. She recognized them as Carth's--not that she needed such physical signs to show that he was near. She could feel his presence. She always could. And would. _

_ Carth looked in at Revan's huddled form, sitting in a corner next to some cargo containers. He tried to muster up some sort of hate or anger towards her, but his overstrained heart was too stretched from finally completing his revenge on Saul Karath. Too tired. It ached a little._

She's the Dark Lord of the Sith, you should hate her with every fiber of your being_, he thought. _She's the manifestation of all the evil, the cruelty and utter ruthlessness of the Sith._ But the thought kept getting obscured by memories. Memories of her giving credits to beggars, to people with bounties on their heads for not paying their debts to crime lords, datapads she scrounged from all over the sewers, just to give hope to the Outcasts. _

_ A veritable parade of scenes streamed before his mind's eye. The widow on Tatooine walking off with 700 credits for a trophy worth only 500. The freeing of the Wookiees from slavery on Kashyyyk. Nico the swoop rider looking extremely happy at the new contract she had wrangled for him from the Hutt. The prospective Sith students she'd saved from their own stupidity. Reconciling an estranged son with his father, a broken-down old Republic soldier. _

_ He blinked away the memories. His boot came down on something round that issued metallic protests at his clumsy handling. He bent down and saw Revan's beloved music pipe, broken into several pieces. He picked them up and stared at them. A part of him idly marveled at her strength, to be able to break metal with her bare hands. The rest of him wept at the depth of her pain, to have destroyed something she had once treasured with all her heart. _

_ He was suddenly angry. Angry at the Jedi Council, and even Bastila, for making a person into a puppet, to dance at their whim. Never mind the necessity of needing to pick Revan's brain for anything on the Star Forge. He was frustrated at not being able to help Revan with her battles. _

_ He stopped, frozen at the thought. He wanted to help Revan, former Dark Lord of the Sith, with her problems? He was incredulous at himself. As if he didn't have enough of his own. But the person he saw sitting there weeping silently wasn't any sort of Lord, Sith or not. The face was that of one who has found that all she knew, the world she thought she lived in, has come crashing down. And found that what was left--had no meaning. It was an expression he had seen staring back at him in the mirror for years. _

_ She hadn't looked up at his entrance. When it became apparent through her numbed apathy that he wasn't going to leave any time soon, she wet her cracked lips with a dry tongue and spoke a word in a hoarse voice. "What." She still did not look up. _

_ Carth stuffed the remains of the pipe into his pouch and walked tentatively towards Revan. He sat down on the cold floor in front of her. He reached, haltingly, hand stopping several times, before it finally touched her face. He grasped her chin gently, and tilted her face up to the light. _

_ She was a mess. A beautiful mess, with dirt and blood smeared across her face. Dried sweat had made her hair greasy, making it stand up stiffly in places. Underneath all the filth, her beauty still shone. Pain had etched faint lines around her eyes and mouth, but it only served to bring the beauty more into focus. _

_ Her eyes opened at last, and he nearly flinched at the dark pools they had become. Blackest despair and soul-wrenching pain rose up in them like bloated corpses floating in water. _

_ "What do you do when you find that you have nothing? All that I thought I knew, all that I have known, is nothing but a lie. No, it's worse than a lie. Not only is my entire life a lie, the real truth is that I'm a monster. A monster with a conscience. Can there be a more pathetic thing in the galaxy?" Revan said hoarsely. A smile hardly worth the name, full of black irony, appeared briefly on her face. Tiny flecks of blood appeared on her cracked lips as they stretched. _

_ "You still have us. You... still have me. You heard what they said out there. They all still stand by you, even if you were Darth Revan," whispered Carth. _

_ "Do I? Still have you? I seem to remember you saying you won't let me betray the Republic. Again," Revan replied, the black humor still stretching her face in a parody of a smile. _

_ Carth winced. It was just like her to latch onto those words and throw them back in his face. He was therefore totally unprepared for what happened next. _

_ Carth felt himself grabbed by his collar, Revan's knuckles digging into his throat with nearly enough force to stop his breathing. Revan flung him up from the floor and slammed him into the wall of the cargo bay with a bone-shattering thud. His breath left him at the impact. _

_ Revan's face was now no more than inches from his own, her eyes boring into his. He shivered at what he saw in them: pain and despair and not a little madness. Like the eyes of a wounded animal, that knows it is dying. _

_ "I also seem to remember you saying, on Korriban, that you'd like nothing better than to put a blaster to Revan's head. Well. Looks like you've got your wish, soldier boy," Revan said harshly. Her knuckles still dug uncomfortably into his throat, but they weren't cutting off his breathing. Much. _

_ "No. No, I couldn't... I can't. That was before I knew..." Carth whispered bleakly. Did she know he would rather shoot himself than hurt one hair on her head? He put his hands over hers. They were so cold, and slightly sticky with blood._ I can't take this much longer, I'm not strong enough_, he thought despairingly. _

_ "That Revan and I are one and the same? And so the Force doth makes fools of us all," Revan half-laughed, half-sobbed. _

_ Revan snarled into his face. "Why not? Did I not destroy Telos? Malak may have given the order, and Saul Karath may have carried it out, but where would they be if not for me? Saul Karath would never have been suborned and Malak would still be a Jedi. They never would have had a fleet capable of blowing Telos to space bunnies if not for me. _

_ "I'm the one who killed your wife and tore away your son. Remember the oath you swore over her cooling body?" A tiny bit of Revan quailed at what she had just said, at the pain that flared in Carth's eyes. The rest of her just wanted to die, to goad him into giving her release. _

_ She shook Carth savagely. "Your revenge isn't complete yet. Will you stand forsworn? Why won't you take that blaster I know you're so capable of using, and put me out of my misery?" _

_ There was no sound but for their breathing; Revan's breath coming in short, sharp inhalations, nearly hyperventilating, Carth's labored, heavy, as he tried to get his breath back. _

_ Carth swallowed. Each word she had said about Telos, his wife and son, were like bombs dropped with pinpoint precision onto his soul. Old wounds, only lightly-scabbed over, opened and bled. "We... we still haven't found the Star Forge yet. There's still one last Star Map to collect," he finally said. He marveled at the steadiness in his voice. _

_ Revan's face twisted. "So. I am nothing more than a mere retriever of ancient artifacts, courtesy of a few broken memories still left from my previous life. I expected as much from the Council, but you... you disappoint me greatly." She shook Carth again, hard enough to make his teeth rattle. _

_ "I offer you a chance to square your revenge away, I present to you a point-blank target, and you dare to spout Bastila's words at me in her stead?" She pitched her voice in a fruity mockery of an officer's, "You swore an oath to the Republic, soldier. Do your duty! It's your responsibility to exterminate Sith wherever you go, especially the biggest, baddest one of them all, THE ONE WHO IS STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!" Revan screamed into his face. _

_ Revan started weeping again. She let the tears of frustration fall, unheeded. _

_ Carth saw the anger now, and was glad it seemed to be pushing the insanity away. But anger was not a good thing, either, not for a Jedi. Especially this particular one. _

_ "Why me?" Carth asked quietly. Revan jerked a little, her hands loosening a little their hold on his throat. _

_ "You, of all the people I know, are the one I have sinned most greatly against. The most. The deepest. If anyone has a greater right to call the hours and minutes of my life, it is you. And because you are the only one I can trust to do it." The anger seemed to be draining out of her. _

_ Carth took a shuddering breath. Revan's hands had released their grip on his neck, but he still held them there. She slumped, the adrenaline and desperate strength leaking from her, leaving her looking bone tired and utterly weary. He suspected he didn't look much better. _

_ "If I ever had that right over anyone... then I say you still need to live a little longer. You still need to find the Star Forge. And Bastila," Carth said. _

_ Revan's eyes blazed at the mention of Bastila's name. "Yes... yes, I still need to find her..." _

_ Carth was relieved to see the madness recede from her eyes, but he stiffened at her next words. _

_ "She's lucky Malak got to her first, because I would have ripped her limb from limb," said Revan coldly. Carth's blood chilled at her deadly earnest tone. _

_ Revan straightened as much as she could, but Carth could still see her pain and weariness in the stiffness of her movements. She turned her hands in his, palm to palm, and gripped them tightly. "You must promise me something." _

_ "What?" Carth asked warily. He wondered what she was thinking. He was too tired to play games. _

_ "Promise me... swear to me you will shoot me, in the head, if I do fall. Again," said Revan pleadingly. _

_ She begged him._ Him_. That was so... wrong. _

_ "Why... in the head?" Carth had to ask. He waited with morbid curiosity for her answer. _

_ "So that no one can possibly resurrect me again. Swear it to me, Carth," Revan answered. Her tears finally stopped. _

_ "I... want something in return. You have to promise me to, to keep on living. To stay alive, long enough to defeat Malak and destroy the Star Forge. That you won't take it into your head to go fall off a cliff or something," Carth said grimly. _

_ He wanted to give her a better reason to keep living, but his nerves were scraped too raw from the hateful words she had just said, to give voice to his feelings. He didn't have the courage right now. Or the strength. He felt so damned tired. _

_ "I swear," Revan said gravely. _

_ "Then I swear that I will make sure you will not ever betray the Republic again, if you should fall to the dark side. Again. A shot to the head," said Carth, just as gravely. Could he trust her word? Did he have a choice? His heart quailed at the thought of possibly having to fulfill his promise. _

_ "Good. Good," Revan said softly, her shoulders slumping a little, as if his words had given her some sort of relief. Maybe they had. _

_ She relaxed her hold on his hands, and pulled them slowly away. The blood had dried in their mutual grip, making it necessary for her to peel her sticky hands out. _

_ Revan stared at the dried blood on her hands. "I suppose I just swore a blood oath to you. How... appropriate." _

_ "Thank you, Carth. It... means a lot to me," Revan whispered. Her eyes were sane again, but they were utterly devoid of hope. _

_ Revan stepped a little away from him. "What is our ETA to Manaan?" she asked in a tired voice. _

_ "Just a few hours. You should... clean up, get some rest, while you still can," Carth replied as he looked at her appraisingly. She looked like hell. The Selkath would freak if they saw her looking like she had come off as the loser in a battle with a rancor. _

_ "Almost there. Just a little while longer. Then I can rest." Revan walked listlessly to the door. She did not look back. _


	2. Ultimatum

**Chapter 2: Ultimatum**

An oppressive silence descended on the High Council. They were paralyzed with shock at Revan's confession of her suicidal tendencies. Guilt twisted at their hearts, that a fellow Jedi could be brought to such a pass, that they were directly responsible for such a thing.

"And... do you still feel this way, Revan?" asked Master Vandar, in an unusually tentative voice.

Revan smiled. "Death does not hold nearly the same allure for me that it once did, Master."

Her smile faded. "But understand this, Masters. The only thing that held me to the path of light, the only reason I did not reclaim the mantle of the Dark Lord of the Sith, and stand now at the head of the Sith fleet with Bastila... is, in fact, the one thing that is forbidden to Jedi."

Revan left the Masters to work it out. They may have been hidebound, but they were smart. It didn't take long at all for realization to dawn in their faces.

Utter silence followed Revan's matter-of-fact statement before being broken by murmurs and buzzing conversation among the Masters. If they had not been Jedi, they would have been shouting and wildly gesticulating.

Only Revan remained unruffled. Master Vrook looked at her a trifle grumpily. "Well, Padawan. It seems you have managed to turn the Council on its ear. Again. This is getting to be a habit whenever you are involved." He clapped his hands, once, twice. It sufficed to quiet the rest of the Council.

"You know that Jedi are forbidden to love," said Master Vandar mildly.

"I know, Master Vandar. I am quite aware of the philosophy behind it," replied Revan respectfully. "Believe it or not, I can even see the merit of such a... rule.

"I must, however, remain true to myself. Love is what preserved me, and saved me from the dark side. I had nothing left to live for after the Star Forge was destroyed. I would have happily remained with Malak's cooling corpse as the Star Forge crumbled around me. It would have made a kind of twisted symmetry, for me to accompany Malak into death as he had followed me in life."

Revan swept her gaze across the Chamber again, eyes hard with resolve. "But I made a promise, and my word is my bond. I promised myself that I would live, and return what was given."

Master Vrook rubbed his face wearily. "You still have much to learn, Padawan. If you continue on the path of the Jedi, we are certain you would regain your rank as Jedi Knight in less time than you can imagine. I do not hesitate to say that we foresee you taking your place among the ranks of the Masters in just a few short years.

"You have learned much wisdom, the kind that is hardest won, with your own blood and sweat and pain. You have so much potential, Revan, it... pains me to think you would throw it all away," said Master Vrook sadly. "The ranks of the Jedi are so thin right now, any loss would be a huge blow."

Revan's heart went out to Master Vrook. Of the Masters she had first met on Dantooine, he had been the most strict and stern with her. He looked like he had aged years in the short time that had passed since the Enclave had been destroyed. She suddenly realized that the loss of the Dantooine Enclave, and especially the Jedi there, had hit him very hard.

Revan bowed deeply to Master Vrook, and then to the assembled Masters. "I am honored by your words, Master Vrook, and by your trust. I know that you still harbored some doubts and suspicions about me when we met on Dantooine. That you now deem me worthy of Master rank, or of any rank at all, means a great deal to me."

Revan held out her hands in supplication. "But can I not remain a Jedi and still hold true to my heart? Will you not even let me try?"

The Masters looked at each other uncertainly.

"I cannot live without my heart, Masters. You may be able to persuade me to do so, and I may even be able to last months, maybe even years. But one day, you will find that I won't be able to go on any longer," said Revan softly.

Master Vandar sighed. "Can it be that we are, in fact, more cruel than the Sith?" The Masters sitting near him looked at each other, then at him, in disbelief.

Master Vrook looked tired and resigned. "Let's... let's just adjourn for a few hours. We need to think on your words, Revan."

Revan bowed at the dismissal, and retreated to the doors. Behind her, the High Council erupted in the Jedi equivalent of pandemonium.


	3. Messages

**Chapter 3: Messages**

Jolee Bindo turned away from the computer console, where he had been observing the proceedings in the Council Chamber with great interest. He rubbed his chin, a thoughtful expression on his face.

T3-M4 beeped at him. Jolee grinned. "You did good, T3. Great reception on those spy-eyes you built."

Jolee turned to a man next to him, who had been plastered to another console, anxiously watching what had been happening. "Well, Carth, if you don't think that wasn't the most definitive answer to your worries, you're a bantha's behind."

Carth Onasi turned to Jolee, a relieved smile on his face. "Yeah. I feel pretty stupid right now. I should never have doubted her word. Now I'll have to put up with your I-told-you-so's."

Jolee patted Carth on the shoulder. "Nothing scarier than learning to trust and hope again. Especially with your heart."

Carth's smile slid off. "It's not really her I'm worried about. Do you think they'll leave her alone, Jolee? They were offering some pretty tempting tidbits to get her to stay."

Jolee waved that concern away. "You didn't see her taking it, did you? Still, I guess she feels some need to convince the Masters she means no harm. They're still shaken up by what she did as Darth Revan, and they still remember Exar Kun. Probably don't want them to think she's still a loose cannon."

They were sitting in the living room of a luxurious suite in a building reserved for foreign dignitaries near the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, courtesy of a grateful Senate. Carth stood up and walked to the huge window, admiring a magnificent view of the horizon-spanning city.

"How long do you think it'll take them to decide, one way or the other, Jolee?" Carth asked.

Jolee glanced at Carth, noting the tension in his shoulders and back. "There're still too many things to do; they can't justify tying up all the Jedi on the High Council for too long. I'd say no more than a week or so."

Carth spun around, looking at Jolee with disbelief. "A week?" he asked. "That's... shorter than I would've thought. Still, it's a long time before I can see her again."

"It'll be at least a week before you can get your rocks off," Jolee snickered.

Carth blushed. "That's not what I meant!" He shook his fist at Jolee, making him laugh even harder.

"Hah! It's all you young people think about, especially what young men think about," Jolee cackled.

"I'm not exactly a young man anymore, you old coot," Carth grumped.

Jolee subsided. "I'm glad you're old enough to know your own mind, Carth. And found someone to love again."

A soft chime sounded from the computer. Carth turned to see the incoming message light blinking. He pressed the receive key. An image of a woman with fleet admiral rank markings appeared. Carth's eyebrows flew up at the sight of Admiral Forn Dodonna. "Admiral! Uh, this is certainly a surprise."

"I've been buried neck deep in paperwork and logistics plans, otherwise I would have called sooner. Red tape just gets bigger and more aggravating the higher in rank you go." Admiral Dodonna sighed. "Well, enough about my problems. How have the saviours of the galaxy been?"

"Nothing to complain about, really, except people who insist on calling me a 'saviour of the galaxy'." Carth rolled his eyes in exasperation.

Admiral Dodonna laughed in amusement. "Speaking of rank, Carth, it's something I'd like to discuss in detail with you. Will you come by my office in Fleet HQ at 0900 in three days?"

Carth knew an order voiced as a request when he heard it. "Yes, of course, Admiral." He nodded in lieu of a salute.

Admiral Dodonna smiled and nodded back. "See you then, Commander." She ended transmission.

Carth sat down abruptly. "I think I know how Revan feels now. I... guess it's something I've been expecting, but not quite this soon."

"Going to rejoin the Fleet, Carth?" Jolee asked softly.

"I... don't know. The only reason I joined in the first place was to make the galaxy a safer place for my wife and son." Carth's face twisted. "Not that I did such a good job of it. And after Telos was bombed... my duty and revenge were the only things I had left. It's the only life I've known for years, now." He stood up and paced to the window again, looking out at the city. Jolee didn't think he was seeing anything in the here and now.

"But you've got something more to live for now, right?" Jolee asked. A familiar presence suddenly registered in his mind. He hid a smile and stood up, maneuvering himself so that Carth's back was to the door.

Carth ran a hand through his hair and turned to face Jolee. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I just hope the Jedi Council doesn't get between us." Unbeknownst to him, Revan had slipped through the door behind him. She flashed Jolee an impish smile as she crept up behind Carth.

Revan tapped Carth on the shoulder. As he turned around in surprise, she seized the opportunity to plant a kiss on his opening mouth, wrapping her arms around his waist. Carth's eyes had widened at Revan's unexpected appearance, but they soon closed in pleasure.

Jolee saw Revan wave a hand at him in a languid shooing motion. He grinned and took that as his cue to leave. He beckoned to T3-M4 and quietly exited the room.

A few moments passed in pleasurable silence.

Carth came up for air, twining one hand through Revan's hair. She narrowed her eyes, a lazy smile crossing her face, putting Carth in mind of a self-satisfied cat that had gotten both the cream and the canary.

"So, is that a blaster in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" asked Revan with a grin.

Carth laughed at the age-old joke. He always laughed often around Revan, with her outrageous jokes and teasing. He gave her a roguish grin. "Wouldn't you like to find out?"

Revan's eyes lit. "Ah, a challenge! How can I resist?" She pushed him down onto a couch and sat down on his lap.

"So how'd you get here so fast? We just saw you leaving the Council Chamber; I didn't think they'd let you out," Carth asked curiously. He wrapped his arms around Revan's waist, pulling her close.

"You've known me this long and you still need to ask? I used the Force, naturally," Revan replied smugly. "Besides, it's not like I'm under house arrest or something. I think I may have broken a few speed limits. They can't ticket a Jedi, can they?"

"You could probably sweet talk them out of it, if they did," Carth replied.

"That's true. So how did you know I had just left the High Council?" Revan traced a finger slowly along his jaw.

"Um. We... installed spy-eyes in the Council Chamber. That is, Mission did." Carth grinned sheepishly at Revan's raised eyebrow. "She snuck in while the Council Chamber was empty. How she managed to get some so high up on the walls, I don't know."

"I should have known. She's extremely lucky none of the Jedi sensed her and caught her, even if she was stealthed." Revan shook her head in bemusement at Mission's audacity. "Where is she now?" she asked.

"Don't know, really. Knowing her, she's out with Zaalbar getting into trouble. Just follow the trail of broken heads." Carth smiled in memory at some of the escapades Mission had gotten into.

"You don't seem too worried about her," Revan observed.

"After everything we've been through, a few importunate drunks would probably be a relief for her to deal with," Carth replied.

"You're certainly getting wise and mellow in your old age," Revan said, laughter crinkling her eyes.

"Old! I'll show you old!" Carth exclaimed indignantly. He tickled Revan in retaliation.

"Ack! No, no, stop!" Revan squirmed about, laughing uncontrollably, trying to fend off his hands. She finally stopped him in the only way she knew how: she kissed him. As a ploy to get him to stop tickling her, it had a 100 success rate.

Another enjoyable few minutes passed in silence.

Revan disengaged and sighed. "As lovely as this is, Master Vrook said they'd only be adjourning for a few hours. I suppose I should be getting back." She made no indication of getting up.

Carth sighed, too. "Before you go, I just wanted to tell you... Admiral Dodonna commed me earlier. She said she wanted to talk to me about my rank."

Revan's eyes lit with delight. Carth was taken aback by her reaction. "Congratulations, flyboy! I don't need the Force to tell me you're going to be getting a long-overdue promotion real soon." She put a finger to her lips, pretending to think. "'Admiral Onasi'... 's got a nice ring to it!"

Carth gaped at her. "You... you don't mind? You're... not upset? I really don't think they'll be jumping me so many grades in rank that fast."

"Why would I be upset at your triumph? You've certainly earned it. You've worked so hard, made so many sacrifices and endured so much. The Republic ought to be damned grateful it commands such loyalty. Making you an admiral should be the least they could do." Revan trailed a finger around Carth's still-open mouth.

Carth took the hint and closed his mouth. "I thought you'd be angry. Like..." he trailed off.

Revan looked at Carth sadly. "I am a different woman. We both have our duties... which means that if you get sent out with the fleet, I'll be right behind you. I still have the _Ebon Hawk_, and I will follow you to the ends of the universe, even if I have to get out and push. I will not be left behind." She gave him a determined look, stubborn chin jutting out like a rock.

"You'd really do that, wouldn't you?" Carth stared in wonder into her eyes. He could see the iron resolve there.

"Do you doubt my ingenuity?" Revan asked archly.

"I would sooner doubt myself." Carth brushed a finger along Revan's cheek. "You... you're really something."

"So you've said." Revan gave him a quick kiss and stood up. "I really should get back now," she said mournfully.

Carth's reply was interrupted by the incoming message chime. He slapped the receive button, just as Revan was about to walk out the door.

"Master Vrook?" Carth's eyebrows flew up in surprise at the face that appeared in the viewscreen. He saw Revan turn back abruptly, looking furtive.

"Is Revan there?" Master Vrook asked without preamble. Carth glanced aside at Revan. "Um..."

Revan moved into the viewer pickup. Master Vrook looked at her grumpily. "Ah, hello, Master Vrook."

"You weren't supposed to leave the High Council premises, Padawan." Master Vrook's bushy gray eyebrows bristled at Revan.

"You didn't say I couldn't leave, Master," Revan said, a little sheepish. Carth suppressed a laugh; she looked like a guilty schoolgirl waiting for the teacher to punish her.

"Yes, an oversight I will remember to correct in the future. Not that I didn't know where to find you. I didn't need the Force to tell me." Master Vrook raised an eyebrow. Revan blushed slightly.

"Is there something you wanted, Master? Am I to return immediately? I can be there in fifteen minutes," said Revan, in an attempt to placate the irate Master.

"No, there's no need. I was calling to tell you that a more urgent matter has come up before the High Council, and that your presence will not be required for a few days. Do as you wish with your time, but hold yourself ready to answer any summons we may send you," Master Vrook admitted reluctantly.

Revan smiled in delight. "Thank you, Master Vrook. I appreciate your taking the time to inform me."

Master Vrook shook his head, a small smile quirking at his lips. "No need, Padawan. Enjoy your reprieve. There will no doubt be much work for you to do after this other matter is settled. Good day to you." He cut the comm.

Revan turned to Carth with a wide grin. "Did you hear that? Looks like we've got a few days to trip the light fantastic, Carth!" She grabbed his hands and spun him around.

Carth laughed as he was whirled around the room. He hadn't seen Revan this exuberant and joyful since they had met Deliah.

Revan sobered. "I wonder what could have come up before the High Council to distract them from me? Not that I'm ungrateful for their lack of attention."

"They're all Master Jedi. I should think they could look after themselves just fine, thank you," Carth said reasonably.

Yet another incoming message came in. Carth stared at the console. "Sure has been a busy day for messages."

Ever since T3-M4 had worked out a brilliant filtering program to screen out calls from the press and the inevitable solicitation messages, the console had been quiet during their stay, with no more than one call a day.

Carth pressed the receive key while Revan looked on with interest.

"Dustil!" Carth exclaimed. It wasn't a live call, alas, but a recording sent from Telos, dated only a few days ago.

Carth turned to Revan. "It's Dustil. He says he'll be arriving here in a couple of days. I had sent him a first-class ticket for the fastest and earliest transport from Telos to Coruscant, but it had completely slipped my mind."

Revan smiled at the happiness in Carth's face as he spoke of his son. She frowned at him. "We should have gone to him in the _Ebon Hawk_, not made him go cavorting across space to see us here."

"I said the same thing, but he was adamant. I think... there're too many bad memories there for him. It's probably for the best," Carth observed sadly. Revan put a comforting hand on his. He covered it with his other hand absently.

"Come on, we've got a whole day ahead of us," Revan said gently. She turned at the sound of whirring treads from the kitchen area. One of Deliah's servitor droids, JC-01, had stopped deferentially in the doorway.

"If it please you, Masters Carth and Revan, I have prepared a light repast for your luncheon." JC-01 waved a hand at the table just visible behind it. Indeed, the delicious smells of the droid's cooking had been wafting through the room, but Revan had been too distracted to notice.

Revan tugged at Carth's hand. Carth woke from his reverie, and took a deep breath. He took an appreciative sniff at the air, his head turning towards the kitchen as if pulled by a tractor beam.

"You know, you don't have to call me 'Master', JC," said Revan as she and Carth followed the droid into the kitchen. She smiled in memory as she recalled a similar conversation she'd had with HK-47.

"I have watched a wide selection of entertainment holos since I have entered your service, Master Revan, and it seems rather expected of me. Let me by all means follow tradition. I shall continue to address you as such unless you wish to countermand it with a direct order," said JC-01.

"As long as you don't call me 'meatbag'," said Carth, amused.

Revan could have sworn she heard JC-01 sniff disapprovingly. "HK-47 has no respect," JC-01 said firmly.

Revan hid a smile. HK-47 and JC-01 couldn't seem to meet sensor to sensor on anything except their devotion to their mutual master. Apparently, HK-47 respected JC-01's ability to wield sharp implements in ways not approved of in the manufacturers' warranty, while JC-01 respected HK-47's ability to wave his blaster rifle in rather pointed gestures.

Revan shook her head and sat down with Carth to enjoy a meal that made anything in a five-star restaurant look like Gamorrean swill.


	4. Reunion

**Chapter 4: Reunion**

It was The Day. Carth felt excited, happy, anxious and nervous all at the same time, his nerves so wound up in anticipation he felt like bouncing off the walls. In two hours he would see Dustil for the first time since their strained goodbye on Korriban.

That they had seen each other at all, with Dustil's hate and anger turned to grudging respect and a reluctant agreement to make things right between them, was only possible with Revan's cajolery and subtle words. The irony was not lost upon him.

Carth carefully examined himself in the bathroom mirror. He had taken great pains with his appearance today; he wasn't about to let so much as a stained shirt get in the way of his reconciliation. He was as well-groomed as could be; he looked ready to appear before a full staff meeting of Republic Fleet admirals.

He had spent hours, with JC-01 playing valet, agonizing over what to wear. He had finally settled on his Republic issue pilot's uniform.

Revan's muffled voice came through the door. "I'll wait for you down in the lobby, slowpoke!"

Carth yanked the door open, just in time to see Revan disappear out the door. "Wait!" he cried, to no avail.

Carth frowned in puzzlement. Revan had been acting mysteriously all day, making preparations for her own appearance. Not even the most oblique questions in his most persuasive voice could coax any details from her. She had merely smiled and told him he'd find out soon enough. She could be so infuriating, sometimes. His lips tugged up at the corners.

Carth ran out the door and waited for an elevator, trying to compose himself in patience. He leapt into the first one that arrived, foot tapping impatiently as he watched the floor numbers blink down steadily. He passed by the reception desk at a fast walk, only to stop dead in the doorway to the garage when he heard Revan's voice behind him.

"Hey, where's the fire, soldier?" Revan drawled. Carth spun around, looking at the few people sitting in the lobby. His attention was caught by a woman waving a hand at him, someone he hadn't even given a passing glance to. And no wonder. He stared.

Revan wasn't dressed in her normally bland Jedi robes. Instead, she was wearing a dark blue trenchcoat that reached only to mid-thigh. A black cap emblazoned with the symbol of the Republic covered hair that was now arranged in tiny braids. Her eyes were covered with a pair of wraparound mirrorshades. Tight, shiny black pants were tucked neatly into equally shiny black calf-high boots. To complete the picture of an ordinary woman on holiday, she was industriously chewing gum. She blew a bubble at Carth when she saw that he had finally spotted her.

Revan sauntered over to Carth, taking evident pleasure in his surprise. She hefted a long bag over her shoulder. He recognized it as the same one she had toted across, through and under seven planets. It looked grubby and disreputable after all of the rough treatment it had endured.

"What's with the get-up? Not that I can fault your taste, but I thought wearing robes was in the union rules." Carth couldn't see her lightsaber, but the coat looked capacious enough to hide anything smaller than a blaster rifle.

Revan smirked at Carth's stare. "Unless you really want to be jumped by media jackals, I'm going incognito. I swear they must be Sith in disguise. Their motto is clearly 'Peace is a lie, there is only aggravation'." She tucked her arm in his and dragged him off to the garage. "Come on, flyboy."

*** * ***

Carth contemplated the woman next to him. She was a study in contradiction. She could be as smooth a talker as could be, charming anyone from tight-fisted Hutts to suspicious crime lords to irate parents. She could also be absolutely ferocious and ruthless when diplomacy broke down, using her lightsaber to make her points instead of words.

On the one hand, she was as cold as could be in battle, as if she had ice water for blood. Even when they had been facing seemingly endless waves of Sith soldiers and Dark Jedi on the Star Forge, she had calmly led him and Jolee through all the ambushes and traps. Not even well-aimed thermal detonators could faze her.

And on the other hand...

"Look out for that freighter!" screamed Carth. He clapped his left hand to his eyes, his courage failing him. His right hand kept its death grip on the side of the speeder.

Revan deftly swerved the speeder around the slow-moving freighter. She flashed a grin at him that said without words that he was being a baby.

On the other hand, she was an absolute menace on the highways. She seemed to treat any clear stretch of the road as her own personal swoop track. She was letting the fact that she was Sector Champion of Manaan and Tattooine Swoop Champion get to her head, Carth was sure of it.

He didn't think he'd had nearly so many narrow escapes in the wars than he had in the few minutes sitting in the speeder with Revan at the controls. She would have made a great fighter pilot, if she didn't crash into anything in the first second.

"I don't know what possessed you to buy a ticket with such a late arrival time," Revan grumped. She spun the controls, expertly weaving the speeder in and out of traffic, always into or out of gaps that opened or closed within seconds.

"Hey, I only looked at the departure times, not the arrival times," Carth protested. "Look out!" he yelled, closing his eyes again.

Revan spun the speeder out of the way of an incoming freighter. "Relax, Carth. People will think you've never been in a speeder before," Revan said soothingly. Carth saw the flash of her teeth in the darkness.

It was late night, although the traffic was only slightly less heavy than it was during the day.

"They'd be right. I've never been in a speeder with a driver who is clearly insane," Carth muttered. He had not released his white-knuckled grip. His safety harness would never be the same. "This is the very last time I ever, _ever_, let you drive."

"Oh, Carth, the things you say," Revan said, pouting at him. "I find your lack of faith... disturbing."

"I can't believe we haven't been ticketed yet," muttered Carth under his breath.

"That's because a Jedi would never break the law," Revan solemnly intoned with a straight face. Carth snorted.

They finally arrived at the spaceport. As it was late in the night, they had no trouble finding parking.

Carth wobbled out from his side of the speeder, testing the steadiness of his legs and flexing out the cramps in his hands. "I'm sure I lost a few years off my life back on the road. If anyone's driving on the way back, it's me."

Revan laughed, a trifle cruelly, to Carth's mind. "Come on, flyboy, let's go get some good seats I won't numb my rear end on, since we're only, what, two hours early?" she said dryly.

"I didn't want to be late. I'm so nervous." Carth kept brushing imaginary lint from his jacket.

Revan's face softened. "It'll be okay, Carth. He came, didn't he?" She slung her bag over one shoulder and clung to Carth's arm. It wasn't a pose she normally assumed when she went out with him, but she wasn't taking any chances. Some of the news reporters had been incredibly persistent and obnoxious. It had gotten only a little better since news of HK-47 blowing a Sith assassin away before any Jedi could move had circulated.

She had made sure HK-47 accompanied her on any public appearances from that time on. The sight of the droid brandishing his blaster rifle was enough to make even the most intrepid newshound back off. She made sure HK-47's blaster rifle was always set on stun, just in case, despite the droid's complaints of inefficiency.

They walked into the vast, bustling and brilliantly-lit spaceport terminal. People and droids filled the cavernous space with a cacophony of noise, even at this late hour.

Revan waved a hand at the blinking schedule board, drawing Carth's attention to it.

"Bay 64, arriving in one hour, 48 minutes," Carth said. He had not stopped fidgeting, Revan noticed, as they walked to Bay 64's waiting area.

Revan's eyes lit at an idea. "Relax, Carth," she said as she pushed him down into one seat while she threw herself onto another next to him. She took out her pipe from an inner pocket of her coat. Carth looked at her in bemusement.

"Music soothes the savage beast; it must do the same for anxious fathers." Revan grinned and put the pipe to her lips before Carth could protest. As an afterthought, she threw her cap onto the floor in front of her.

She started piping a lively piece she had played for Carth on Taris, in what seemed like a lifetime ago. She started to tap her heel in time to the music.

Carth, resigned to Revan's crazy schemes, shrugged. His foot started to tap in time to the rhythm, despite himself. He stilled his foot, only to find his fingers tapping a moment later. Revan's eyes crinkled at him. He smiled and gave himself up to the music. He did find it relaxing, amazingly enough.

People began to wander in their direction, attracted by Revan's playing. A few even threw some credits into her hat. She finished playing the song, and asked for music requests from total strangers. Her happy mood was contagious. A Twi'lek asked for a popular love song, which Revan granted cheerfully. More credits dropped onto the small pile growing in her hat.

Carth watched her play with a smile on his face. Everywhere she went, she brought a little light into the lives around her. She did it as unselfconsciously as the sun shedding its radiance across the planet. Revan was playing a lullaby for a crying Rodian boy now. His mother was smiling with relief and gratitude as the little boy quieted.

Revan glanced at the time display. "Alright, folks, I need a break. Thank you all for listening and the credits!" A chorus of good-natured boos rose from the crowd. It dispersed in time for Revan and Carth to hear the announcement that Dustil's shuttle had docked.

Revan scooped up her hat full of credits and dumped them all carelessly into her bag before putting it back on. Carth was staring the doors with the intensity of a cat watching a mousehole.

Finally the doors opened, passengers spilling out in a tide. Carth craned his neck, trying to spot a tall young man with dark brown hair. He finally spotted his quarry; he waved his arms frantically.

Dustil spotted Carth and smiled shyly, a little embarrassed, and headed in the direction of the urgently-waving man.

Carth stepped towards Dustil, suddenly hesitant. He held out a hand towards his son. Dustil, equally hesitant, grasped it awkwardly. Both men seemed at a loss for words.

Revan goosed Carth.

Carth jumped and stumbled into Dustil, his arms going around his son in involuntary reflex. Dustil, startled, put his arms around his father, returning his accidental hug.

Revan danced around behind Dustil, laughing silently at Carth. He glared at her over his son's shoulder, but he couldn't keep it up when he finally had Dustil in his arms.

After a moment, Carth reluctantly disengaged himself from his son's embrace. He held Dustil out at arm's length, looking him up and down. "You look, you look good, son."

Dustil smiled tentatively back. "You look good, too, Father." To Dustil's eyes, Carth looked even tougher than he had back when he saw him on Korriban. He looked... happy, too. Joy seemed to bubble just beneath his hardened exterior. Like he had looked when they had been on Telos, with his mother. He flinched away at the memories.

Carth caught the look of pain in Dustil's eyes, and thought he knew the cause. "I know, son, I know." His rough hands squeezed Dustil's. He looked at Revan, who was still standing behind Dustil with a smile on her face.

"Son, you remember the Jedi who was with me on Korriban?" Carth asked. He pulled Revan out from behind Dustil.

Revan smiled cheerfully at Dustil, taking off her mirrorshades. Her heart experienced a moment of panic. "Hey, kid. Good to see you again."

Dustil blinked at Revan's untraditional garb. "Uh, hello again. How could I forget, Father..." He cleared his throat. "I, uh, heard the Sith Academy has been closed indefinitely."

Revan looked sad. "I'm afraid the rest of the students and staff didn't take too kindly to Yuthura Ban leaving and Uthar's death. I was attacked on sight when I went back in." She brightened a little. "At least I saved Yuthura and some of the other students."

Dustil winced. He could well imagine the slaughter that must have ensued. He couldn't believe how stupid the other students had been, to try and take down the Jedi who could kill Master Uthar singlehandedly. He was well out of that place. And though they had been nothing but rivals when he had still been a student at the Sith Academy, he was strangely glad to hear that some of his fellow students had survived.

"Look, I don't think I ever caught your name, Lady Jedi--" Dustil began.

Revan's smile froze on her face. Without trying to move her lips too much, she grated, "Carth, the next shuttle down isn't for another five hours... so why are there so many people in this docking bay?"

The sounds of many footsteps echoed around the empty docking bay.


	5. Assassination

**Chapter 5: Assassination**

Revan saw Carth and Dustil tense. She counted possible enemy heads as they seemed to swarm into the docking bay. _They don't believe in fair fights, do they?_ she thought whimsically.

Carth restrained the impulse to look behind him. "Sith?"

Revan surreptitiously twitched her coat open. "Maybe. Dustil, are you armed?" she whispered from the corner of her mouth.

The spot between Dustil's shoulderblades itched. "No. The ship's purser freaked, so I had to leave my blasters behind."

"What happened to your lightsaber?" Carth, too, whispered, trying to act nonchalant.

"I dumped it," Dustil said shortly.

"Carth, give him your blasters." Revan still had a false smile pasted on her face, as she watched forty to fifty people slip into the waiting area.

"Um, what am I gonna use?" Carth asked.

"I was going to say your bad breath, but not even the Sith deserve that." Revan began to swing her bag innocently. Carth saw a pair of vibroblade hilts that kept protruding out with every swing.

"Funny, real funny." And a genuine smile did appear on his face. Briefly. "But don't quit your day job."

Revan slowly but steadily walked towards a support pillar, Carth and Dustil keeping pace beside her.

"Dustil Onasi," boomed one of the men in the forefront of the group.

"Uh, do I know you?" Dustil asked, playing for time, still walking along. He could see the marks of Sith tattoos on the man's face.

"You're going to die a slow, painful death, traitor." The man smiled coldly and took out a heavy blaster pistol. The others took this as a cue to take out a variety of weapons, from vibroblades to blaster pistols to a heavy repeater. "We're so glad you led us to your father, too."

"Fifty of you to take down just the two of us? I guess we should be flattered," Carth drawled lazily. His hands had dropped to the blasters at his hips.

The sound of a lightsaber igniting stopped the Sith cold in their tracks. "Hey, what am I, chopped liver?" Revan quipped.

Carth nearly laughed at the looks that replaced the cold, predatory grins on the faces of the Sith. They clearly weren't expecting a Jedi. He bet variations on the theme of _Oh shit_ were running through their minds.

The leader, to give him credit, had stood his ground, although his face looked a bit pale. "It's her. Her! Kill them, kill them all!" he shouted. He opened fire. Nearly thirty Sith sporting vibroblades and swords charged towards the trio; the rest stood back, firing their blasters nearly simultaneously.

Dustil felt the Force wash over him protectively as he snatched the blaster pistols his father tossed to him out of the air. He dived behind the support pillar, knowing he was the weakest link. His mouth twisted with distaste at this realization. He fired his pistols into the charging mass of Sith.

Carth grabbed the vibroblades from Revan's bag, just in time to use them to parry the blows that rained down on him from two Sith who had decided he was the easier target.

Carth's boot whipped up, smashing in the knee of the one on his right. The Sith screamed and collapsed, obligingly fouling his companion's aim as he lurched into her. Carth gave neither of them a chance to recover; he flicked the tip of one blade into the throat of the one with the smashed knee. Carth slipped the other blade into the heart of the female Sith. He withdrew both blades from their bodies with an expert twist of his wrists.

Revan had been deflecting blaster fire calmly with her double lightsaber. Dustil noticed it was most unusual when he had time to watch her in between dodging blaster fire and shooting back. The double lightsabers he had seen wielded in the Sith Academy were only one color, usually red, but Revan's blades were orange and cyan.

"Dustil, I think I've got some thermal detonators in my pack," Revan said in an almost conversational tone.

"You've been carrying dangerous explosives in your purse?" Carth asked her in disbelief, while nimbly dodging sword blows from his opponents.

"Hey, even Jedi can be absentminded. Be glad I never cleaned out my backpack, otherwise you'd be fighting with nothing but your bad breath," Revan groused. She kicked a Sith, who had been trying to sneak up on Carth, in a strategic spot.

Dustil's eyes watered in sympathy. He shook his head, amazed that his father and the Jedi had the time and inclination to banter at a time like this.

Dustil lunged out the short distance to where Revan had dropped her pack. Away from the protection of the pillar, a lucky shot grazed his shoulder, making him cry out in pain. In an instant he felt the Force again, this time healing his wound.

Revan was now too busy fighting against three Sith to deflect blaster fire. She held her saber up to block a blow one Sith was about to make with a mighty two-handed overhead swing. The Sith's blade came down... to meet no resistance. Surprised, he stumbled, off balance.

Revan had detached the two halves of her lightsaber an instant before the Sith's blade was about to make contact. She now held two lightsabers, one in each hand. Her right hand blade snaked out and stabbed into the stumbling Sith's neck. He fell, trying to scream through the remains of his throat.

Revan flashed her left lightsaber in a disorienting pattern at a second Sith; taken in by her feints, he failed to block the stroke that swept down onto his upper leg. He shrieked in pain and shock as his leg fell one way, his body the other.

Revan had been ignoring the third Sith's attacks while she took care of of his fellows; now she turned all her attention on him. He did not survive long under it, as the hand that held his vibroblade was severed cleanly at the wrist by one lightsaber, and his chest was pierced by the other. He didn't even have time to scream.

Carth had taken several blaster shots by now since Revan could no longer deflect them, but Dustil could see that he wasn't fazed one bit. Carth still moved easily and swiftly, his blades twirling in a terribly beautiful dance. The brightness of the metal had long since been obscured by blood and gore. He gave no indication he was in pain, despite several cuts bleeding freely and blaster burns all over his body.

The Sith were crowding in Revan and Carth, getting in the way of each other more often than not. Revan's eyes narrowed in fierce calculation. These Sith didn't act like they had trained together; they didn't cooperate and move as a team like she and Carth did. She watched Carth's flank while he watched hers, but these Sith fought like individuals.

The three of them had superior fighting skills and defense, but sheer numbers were starting to push her and Carth back to the pillar, limiting their fighting space.

Revan ducked under a Sith's sword arm, getting inside his reach; her right lightsaber punched up through his armpit. She used the Force to throw him and the ones surrounding her and Carth back, slapping them to the ground.

Dustil took the opportunity to throw a couple of thermal detonators at the stunned Sith, now that they were no longer surrounding his father and the Jedi.

Revan took advantage of the distraction Dustil made and froze the remaining Sith in stasis. She watched more thermal detonators arc over her head to land in the middle of them; when the smoke and fire had cleared, only ten or fifteen remained of the fifty-strong group who had attacked them, thrown literally in disarray by her Force wave and the grenades.

By unspoken agreement, Revan and Carth charged at the rest of the Sith. It should have looked comical, two people charging fifteen, but it wasn't, especially not to the Sith. Dustil picked off a few Sith with his pistols, targetting the ones who used blasters.

Revan's pace quickened, and so did her lightsabers. Her form blurred, the sabers in her hands turning into eye-watering streaks of orange and blue-colored light. Several Sith went down under her onslaught, almost before they knew what was happening.

Carth, unable to keep up with Revan, consoled himself by taking on a group of five that Revan had passed up. Dustil's jaw dropped as he watched his father wade fearlessly into volley after volley of blaster fire as the Sith desperately tried to drop him in his tracks. Dustil frantically fired at them, cursing pungently at his lack of grenades. He supposed it didn't matter, since his father had already closed the range.

Dustil didn't know what the Sith saw in Carth's face, but they blanched and dropped their weapons, the ones in the rear already turning to run. Revan, arms crossed with her lightsabers still turned on, blocked their path, however. She had the leader, the one who had threatened Dustil, in Force stasis behind her.

"Gentlemen. Please leave a few functional for questioning," Revan said calmly, as politely as if she were asking Carth and Dustil to leave a few cookies for her.

The Sith who were still armed dropped their weapons and held up their hands in surrender. Carth lowered his blades, a look of supreme disappointment on his face.

The sound of sirens penetrated the doors, heralding the arrival of the Coruscant city police. Dustil nearly laughed; it was just like in the holo movies: the police always arrived too late, after everything was over.

A large group of police burst through the doors, making a beeline for Revan when they spotted her. They stopped abruptly on the threshold when they saw the scene of carnage.

Revan deactivated her lightsabers and turned to a captain in the forefront of the crowd, putting her most charming smile on her face. The effect was slightly spoiled by the blood spattered across her face and dripping off her clothes.

"Uh, Lady Jedi, um, may I ask what has happened here?" the police captain stammered. Dustil could hear a few of the police in the back gagging and retching at the stench of death in the room. He gagged, too, as he caught a whiff of burned flesh.

Carth left Revan surrounded in a knot of police. He came towards Dustil, concern writ all over his face. "You okay, son?" he asked Dustil worriedly. He waved a blade absentmindedly; it trailed pieces of things best left unidentified and blood in an arc as he swung it.

"I'm fine, Father. I was going to ask you the same question. You took a lot of blaster fire," Dustil said. He wrinkled his nose at Carth's bloody blades. "Shouldn't you clean those?" He noticed Carth and Revan were breathing only slightly heavily after the fight. He shook his head slightly, amazed at their resilience, especially his father's.

Carth looked around for something to wipe his blades on. Seeing nothing suitable, he sighed heavily and took out a handkerchief from an inside pocket of his jacket. "I'm fine. She used the Force to heal me when the police came in," he said as he cleaned his blades. His face twisted in disgust at the bloody ruin of his handkerchief. Looking around furtively, he dropped it on the floor.

Carth smiled proudly at Dustil. "That was good shooting, son. And good aim with those grenades." Dustil couldn't help but feel a little gratified by the praise.

"Father, you were amazing. You and the lady. I... I think I would've been toast if I had actually tried to kill you when I saw you on Korriban," Dustil said sheepishly.

Carth's face softened. "I would've deserved it, Dustil, if you had killed me. I've... been a terrible father to you." His eyes couldn't meet his son's. He slipped the blades into scabbards he found in Revan's pack. He buckled one on his belt, the other on his back.

Dustil put one hand awkwardly on his father's shoulder. "It's... okay, Father. I... forgive you. I thought about it, a lot, what you and your Jedi friend said, when I got to Telos, and on the trip here."

Carth's eyes blazed with joy at Dustil's words. His eyes blinked rapidly as he drew his son into a heartfelt hug. "I... thanks, son. That means a lot to me. A lot," he said huskily.

They stood that way for a while, until Dustil saw Revan standing a few feet away, smiling faintly. He tapped Carth on the back. His father let him go reluctantly.

Carth saw Revan standing patiently behind him when he turned. He didn't see Dustil brush a shaky hand across his eyes, but she did. Her smile widened a little more.

"The police will take over from here, gentlemen. I've secured our release from their gentle hands with a few names dropped subtly in their captain's ear. Plus, they recognize you, Carth, as a genuine," here her voice turned into a fruity narrator's, "'saviour of the galaxy'." She snickered as Carth rolled his eyes. "I've also contacted the night shift at the Jedi Council. They'll be sending in a couple of people to the station to interrogate these assassins."

Revan looked around. The police seemed to have everything well in hand. "Let's blow out of here, guys. Reporters are going to be swarming all over this place like flies on bantha poo. Not to mention that I need my beauty sleep or I'll be cranky." She picked up her pack and slung it over her shoulder.

Carth snorted but followed her out the doors, Dustil bringing up the rear.

"Um, Father," Dustil said. He held out the blaster pistols he still held in his hands helplessly at Carth. "Where do I put these?"

"Oh, yeah," Carth said. He unbuckled the empty gun holster belt from his waist and handed it to his son. "You might as well keep them handy, Dustil. There could be more Sith popping out of the woodwork."

Dustil followed Carth and Revan out of the spaceport to their speeder, buckling the holsters on. The weight of the blaster pistols made a comforting presence at his hips.

"I wonder where the hell these bozos came from," mused Revan. "Nothing has happened since we got here, and it's been just over a month since the Star Forge went kablooey."

Carth shrugged. "Retaliation, revenge, someone looking to climb up the Sith hierarchy using our dead bodies... I don't really think they need a reason to try and kill us."

"They need to get money from somewhere to keep them in food, weapons and board, Carth. They were able to track Dustil from Telos to Coruscant and get those weapons through security. That kind of thing takes credits, and a lot of them." Revan frowned thoughtfully. "This whole thing is starting to stink."

"Like us? I'm definitely smelling a little ripe," Carth said. They had reached the speeder as they were talking.

Revan saw a shadow flit from behind the speeder. "Dustil!" she screamed.

Dustil started and stared wildly around, only to be shoved to the ground roughly by the frantic Jedi. He heard the dreadful sound of a blade penetrating cloth and flesh.

"Guh," Revan gurgled, staring down helplessly at the blade that had slid into her torso, just under her ribcage.

"Revan!" Carth screamed. His blade whistled in a vicious arc that decapitated the Sith neatly. Blood pumped from the neck as her headless body slumped to the ground.

Dustil heard the thump of the severed head as it landed a few feet away, but his ears were filled with the sudden roaring of his blood. _Revan? The former Dark Lord of the Sith?_ He stared down at the woman who had fallen to her knees. His mind seemed to stop working.

"Revan!" Carth cried again, dropping his blade. It clattered to the ground. He took Revan carefully in his arms, his face full of fear and panic.

Revan tugged with ineffectual hands at the blade. "Take," she coughed, "it out." She blew a mouthful of blood into Carth's face. "S-sorry..." Carth realized the blade must have punctured her lung.

"Don't, don't try to talk... please don't die, please don't die," Carth muttered in a panicked monotone. He placed a hand on the hilt and pulled the sword out, as quickly and as carefully as he could. Revan hissed in pain.

Blood spurted in a wave from Revan's wound. She clapped her shaking hands over it, trying to stem the tide. Her hands and lap were quickly stained crimson. A frighteningly large pool of blood quickly puddled under her.

Carth had upended Revan's pack. Credit chits, assorted junk, computer spikes and things Dustil coudn't identify flew out and bounced onto the ground. "Dustil, please, help me find some medpacs!"

Dustil complied, mind working on autopilot, as he mechanically started sorting through the pile. He felt Revan call on the Force to heal her. She sobbed with the effort and fainted, blood bubbling on her lips and at her nostrils.

Carth left off his search abruptly to catch her falling body. "Revan!" He groped around on the ground, miraculously finding a medpac right under his fingers. He hurriedly injected it into her limp body. His hand felt for the wound on her stomach. He ripped her shirt open, the fasteners popping in protest and bouncing into the dark. He sighed a little in relief when he saw that blood was no longer pumping out with abandon, but instead leaking sluggishly.

"We have to get her to a hospital," Carth muttered, almost to himself. He didn't seem to notice Dustil's look of shell shock. He lifted Revan in his arms and deposited her gently into the speeder, next to the driver's seat. He scraped Revan's things into a messy pile and dumped it all into her pack. He resheathed his sword without cleaning it.

"Dustil, come on!" Carth started the engines without looking to see if Dustil obeyed. Dustil was startled out of his shock at his father's desperate cry, and hopped into the backseat just as Carth moved it out of its parking space.

Carth punched the console keys with more force than necessary, bringing up a map of the spaceport environs. He strapped Revan into her seat hurriedly but as carefully as possible. He put his bloody hands on the controls and spun the speeder recklessly into traffic, heedless of possible collisions, as he set out for the nearest hospital.


	6. Healing

**Chapter 6: Healing**

Carth paced back and forth anxiously in the hospital waiting room. He had cleaned the blood from his face and hands, but dried blood still stained his jacket, sleeves and the knees of his trousers, where he had knelt in a pool of Revan's blood in the spaceport parking lot.

The small part of his mind not consumed with worry for Revan thought he must have looked like a murderous madman, when he had burst through the doors of the ER, blood dripping from his face and hands, carrying an equally-bloodstained woman, screaming for a medic. Horrible flashbacks to Telos had made an unwelcome entrance in his mind.

Fortunately, a doctor whose concern had overcome her fear had taken Revan's unconscious form where he had laid her on a pallet, and whisked her away. A nurse had recognized him as Carth Onasi under all the blood, and had gotten him the VIP treatment. For once, his overinflated reputation was good for something. He hoped no one had leaked the news to the media. He might just send some heads rolling, literally, in his mood.

Carth's thoughts were interrupted by Dustil's voice.

"So when were you going to tell me your Jedi friend was Revan, Father?" Dustil asked coolly.

Carth cringed at the accusation in his son's voice. "We... we were going to tell you as soon as we got you to our suite, Dustil. I swear." Carth turned to his son with a pleading look on his face.

"It was her idea, really. I was going to break it to you gently, after you had been here for a few days. But she said that wouldn't be fair to you. I... I guess it would've been rather cowardly of me not to tell you immediately. She threatened to tell you herself if I didn't." Carth ran a trembling hand through his sweat-stiffened hair. "She has courage and honor enough for both of us," he said softly.

"You love her, don't you?" Dustil asked, a little more gently.

Carth couldn't meet Dustil's eyes. "Yeah. To death."

"How could you? How could you love the monster who bombed Telos? She killed Mother!" Dustil said. His eyes were full of reproach and anger.

Carth flinched at his son's words. It was worse that Dustil hadn't shouted and screamed at him, that he had spoken in such a reasonable tone of voice. He couldn't come up with anything to say that would calm Dustil down. He wished fervently that Revan were there. She was the one with the silver tongue, she knew all the right words to say. Somehow he just knew that saying it was Malak who gave the order to bomb Telos, not Revan, wouldn't help.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Dustil." Carth waved his hands around helplessly. "I know how horrible this--thing--between me and Revan must look to you. Consorting with the enemy, and all that." Carth sat down abruptly into a chair, looking defeated.

"You know... she tried to get me to kill her, after we both found out," said Carth in a small voice. "An itty bitty woman like her... she threw me around and said a lot of... a lot of really painful things. It would've been funny, if it, if it hadn't hurt so much." He rubbed his face with his hands tiredly.

Dustil didn't feel like laughing.

"She said... she said I was the one she had sinned the most against. That I had the greatest right to put a blaster to her head and pull the trigger." Carth stared into space; at what, Dustil didn't know.

"Why didn't you?" Dustil asked softly.

"I had... I had known her for months by then. Fought beside her, stood with her through thick and thin. Did some... good things. A lot of good things. I saw all of it. That's why it hit me so hard, when I found out she was, used to be, Darth Revan. We'd grown close, I thought.

"When I said I couldn't kill her, when I said we had to find the last Star Map and the Star Forge and Malak, she sort of... gave up. On everything. It was like she turned into a walking dead woman. I've seen corpses with more life than she had then."

Dustil tried to reconcile his father's memory with the vibrant woman he had met for such a brief time on Korriban, and again tonight. He couldn't conceive of it.

"She begged me. Begged me to kill her, if she fell to the dark side. Again," Carth said. Dustil looked at his father, and saw the pain in his unseeing eyes.

"I promised her I would. But... but I knew. I knew I wouldn't have been able to do it. It... would've been the second promise I'd break. The last one I'd break, ever again. I knew that, if she fell, I wouldn't be able to lift a hand. I would've let her kill me. By her own hand or if she let someone else do it, whatever." Carth took in a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm glad things... didn't turn out that way."

"I love her, Dustil. I, I, I don't know if you can live with that. I'll... understand if you can't, if you, you hate me for it. But... I owe her, so much. Too much. I was a walking dead man, too, until I met her. She made me live again, to hope, even when hope hurt so much, I wanted to die from the pain.

"I couldn't have found you without her. You wouldn't be sitting here, listening to me babble like some stupid idiot, without her." Carth ended his monologue; he still sat, slumped in his chair, not daring to look at his son. It felt like he had failed Dustil, betrayed him, again.

An uncomfortable silence grew between father and son.

Dustil wet his dry lips and cleared his throat. "I... I don't know. I don't know what to think, yet, Father. This is all... so overwhelming. I mean, I don't get to stand on Coruscant for five minutes before people try to kill me. Us. I... I need some time to wrap my head around this."

Carth's head whipped up from his hands, hope kindling in his eyes at Dustil's unexpected lack of total rejection. A bid for time was acceptable. More than acceptable.

"I... thanks, Dustil. You, you're a wiser and better man than I could ever be. I'm... so, so proud of you," Carth said, tears making his eyes bright.

Dustil squirmed a little uncomfortably at the emotion standing naked in his father's eyes. He was saved from having to think of a proper response by a knock on the door. It was the doctor who had taken Revan in to be examined.

"Commander, young Mr. Onasi, the lady Jedi is awake. She asked to see you. She was... most firm about it." Indeed, the doctor had a slightly glazed expression on her face, a not uncommon reaction at being exposed to Revan for the first time.

Carth nearly knocked her down in his rush to see Revan. Dustil was left to thank the doctor, before following at a more sedate pace.

Revan looked up from her datapad on seeing Carth enter the room at a run. Carth heard the tinny music of the pad's capitulation to her Pazaak victory. A relieved grin stretched his face, his first after what seemed like an eternity. Was it only a few hours ago that he had laughed at Revan's irreverent jokes?

"Hey, flyboy," Revan said from her seat on the hospital bed. She looked at Carth's still-ashen face. "You look like the one who got punctured front to back instead of me."

"I really can't believe you sometimes. You nearly die on me and here you are, cracking jokes." Carth took Revan's hands in a hard grip. She looked beautiful, if a bit pale, even dressed in the unflattering hospital gown. But then she looked great in anything, including sewer sludge.

"I didn't die, nearly or otherwise," Revan protested, a little indignantly. "If I hadn't fainted from the pain, I would've been able to heal myself completely, and I wouldn't be sitting here in this drafty gown."

"It looks good to me, beautiful," Carth said with a smile.

Revan shook her head at him in mock exasperation. "Men and their one-track minds." She suddenly couldn't meet his eyes.

Carth sensed her trepidation. "What's wrong, gorgeous?" He tilted her chin up, to see the tears that ran down her cheeks.

"Carth, I'm... so sorry." Revan sniffed, and ran a hand almost angrily across her face.

Carth looked baffled. "For what?"

"I nearly got Dustil killed. Again! If I hadn't been in such a hurry to get to the speeder, I would've been able to sense that damned Sith. Damn it, I screw up everything." Revan's shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Carth held Revan in his arms, tucking her head under his chin, feeling the tremors in her slight body. "It's okay, it's okay, shhh. Dustil's alright, there's not a scratch on him. You nearly died to save him, don't think I don't know that. It's okay, it's okay," he murmured into her ear reassuringly.

Carth kept her in his embrace until Revan stopped crying, and pushed a little at his chest. He held her a little away, brushing away her tears with a gentle hand. "Feeling better?"

Revan nodded, sniffling. "So where's Dustil?" she asked, her voice a little hoarse.

Dustil cleared his throat nervously from where he stood in the doorway. "Um, hi. I, uh, hope you're feeling better?" he asked Revan hesitantly.

"Oh, I'll be fine. I just misplaced a few pints of blood. I'm getting some new blood right now," Revan said, pointing at the IV in her arm and a nearby machine. She made a face. "I hate hospitals. The food stinks and the drinks are frankly piss." She picked up a glass of water from a nearby tray and grimaced at it. Carth and Dustil smiled at Revan's tart complaint.

"The doctor said you could leave as early as tomorrow. Actually, it's already tomorrow. I guess you could leave in a few hours," Dustil offered uncertainly. He held out a bundle to Revan. "Here're your clothes and stuff back. They've been cleaned and all."

Revan brightened at the news and took the bundle eagerly. She snapped the two sabers back together, forming a double lightsaber again, before shaking out her shirt. Her eyes bulged in outrage. "What in the name of the Force happened to _my shirt_?" She displayed the broken fasteners and ripped straps.

Dustil coughed and looked away, a suffused expression on his face. Carth turned bright red.

"Uh, uh, well, you had fainted, and, and, you were bleeding like a stuck Gamorrean, so, so..." Carth's stammer trailed off in the face of Revan's outrage.

Revan let Carth stew and fumble for words for a few more moments. She couldn't keep her face straight any longer; her shoulders trembled as hilarity rumbled up from her chest to explode in a fit of giggles and snorts of laughter.

The look on Carth's face was priceless.

Revan laughed until her sides ached as Carth sputtered incoherently. Dustil wasn't much better, only barely able to keep from rolling on the floor.

"You should have seen the look on your face, Carth," Revan snickered, giggles still leaking out at odd moments.

"I oughta put you over my knee, woman," muttered Carth darkly.

Dustil held his sides. He hadn't laughed like this since... since. He didn't know when, really. A long, long time ago, perhaps on Telos, when it was still beautiful and Mother... Mother had still been alive. He could see, now, a little of what his father saw in this woman, why he loved her so much. He could laugh himself well, in her presence. He could feel scabs fall away from old wounds in his heart. They were still tender, but they were truly healing, with pink new flesh. They would no longer bleed when pressed, anymore.

Revan looked at Dustil, which only served to set her off into giggles again. Dustil grinned.

"You can just stop smirking at your old man, son," growled Carth. Revan and Dustil could see his heart wasn't in it, though. "Kids these days, they don't show proper respect anymore." His words registered. "Oh good god, now I sound like Jolee!" he wailed.

This only served to send Revan and Dustil into gales of laughter again.


	7. Promotion

**Chapter 7: Promotion**

Carth was deferentially ushered into Admiral Dodonna's office by her secretary. He looked around. Admiral Dodonna's office was very plain, with few ornaments and furnishings. A massive console dominated the room. He supposed she had seen the inside of the tactics room and quarters aboard her flagship a lot more often than she had her downside office during the wars.

"Carth!" Admiral Dodonna exclaimed. She rose from her seat and held out a hand to grasp Carth's firmly. Her steward appeared unobtrusively, setting down a tray with two steaming mugs of caffa on the Admiral's desk, before disappearing. She waved Carth to a seat before her desk.

Carth sat down in the seat the Admiral waved him to. "So, Admiral, what's this all about?" he asked curiously.

"Straight to the point as always, I see. Well. Here's the answer to your question in a nutshell. Or in a case, rather." Admiral Dodonna handed him a small black jewel case.

Carth turned the small case over in his hands, before opening it. His breath caught at what he saw lying pinned to a bed of black velvet. A set of admiral rank pips winked at him, glittering like stars.

Carth worked his mouth soundlessly as he tried to speak, while the Admiral waited patiently. "Admiral... this is... I'm... you've jumped me so many ranks! I'm just a commander!" A thought struck him. "Er, aren't people going to be upset?"

"Oh, I'm sure there'll be a few who'll be all snooty about it, but the majority of the Republic brass, myself included, think you deserve this. And so much more. The Republic--we--owe you so much. To say that I have been proud to have you under my command is a vast understatement," Admiral Dodonna said firmly.

Carth stared at the Admiral. His eyes went back down to look at the rank pips. "I... I don't know what to say. I mean, this is, this is such an honor." His mind tried to process this new development.

"How about 'Yes, Admiral, I gladly accept'?" Admiral Dodonna said, smiling, before she realized Carth wasn't paying her any attention at all. He was staring past her head out at the window behind her. About to scold him for not paying attention, she noticed a strange shadow had fallen onto her desk. She swung her seat around.

Revan and Dustil were in a speeder floating directly in front of the Admiral's window. Revan gave Admiral Dodonna a cheerful salute. The Admiral found herself waving back.

Revan looked past the Admiral to Carth. She smiled smugly when she saw the case held limply in his hand. She tugged at her collar and held up some fingers, indicating the number of pips Carth had just been given. Carth nodded mechanically, acknowledging that she had guessed correctly.

Revan smirked at him. Carth saw her dig an ostentatious elbow into Dustil's side. Dustil smiled at his father sourly, holding up a handful of credits for him to see, before handing them over to Revan. Carth had to laugh at Revan's evident glee in winning a bet they had obviously set between them.

Revan put them away, before turning back to Carth. She walked her right index and middle fingers across her left palm, in a pantomime of walking legs. She then slid her right palm across her left in a quick motion. Carth deduced that she wanted to see him immediately, and that he was not to dawdle. He smiled and nodded his agreement. He made a shooing motion at her.

Revan grinned mischievously at him, and turned back to the controls. Carth saw Dustil grab the speeder's side, a look of wide-eyed panic on his face as Revan plunged the speeder straight down, out of his view.

Admiral Dodonna turned back to Carth, looking bemused. She had seen the silent exchange of gestures between Carth and Revan. "Was that who I think it was, Carth?" she asked.

Carth nodded at the Admiral. "Yeah, that was Revan, alright. You must remember her from the ceremony on the Rakata homeworld." Admiral Dodonna snorted, saying without words that she couldn't possibly have forgotten that particular Jedi.

"Uh, is there something between the two of you? And does the Jedi Council know about it?" the Admiral persisted.

Carth was still smiling. "Yeah, they know. She's the one who brought it up to them, actually."

"I can't say I'm surprised. She seemed a most unusual Jedi. Heck, she seemed a most unusual woman. No one else would have dared to drive their speeder so close to Fleet HQ," Admiral Dodonna observed.

"That she is, Admiral, that she is. I've never met anyone like her and I probably never will," Carth admitted. He waved the jewel case at her. "I have to think about this, Admiral. It's not just me, alone, anymore. I've found my son again, and... well, there's Revan. I need to discuss this with them, first."

"She didn't look too upset at your promotion, Carth," said Admiral Dodonna reasonably.

"I know, but I still have to talk to her about it. I haven't even told Dustil yet, although I saw he lost his bet with Revan, so she must've told him something," Carth said. "Permission to leave, Admiral? You saw how she told me to get my butt in gear ASAP."

Admiral Dodonna laughed. "By all means, Carth. I wouldn't want to get on the bad side of a woman like her. Go, go. And take as long as you need to think this over, Carth. The Republic needs its best men and women more than ever now. We've got to rebuild the Fleet, and there'll always be a place for you in it, should you decide to take it."

Carth stood at attention and saluted Admiral Dodonna. She stood up and returned his salute solemnly. She shook her head in amusement as she watched Carth scurry from her office.


	8. Promise

**Chapter 8: Promise**

Dustil parked the speeder in the garage of the building where he was staying with Carth and Revan, shaking his head at the memory of Revan's light-hearted antics at Fleet HQ. She acted like a teenager sometimes, instead of the mature Jedi she was. He thought about it, and decided that he liked her that way. Too many Jedi were staid and stoic, giving him the impression that they had their lightsabers up their asses. He made his way to the elevator.

Dustil stepped out onto the springy grass of the garden on the roof. He stared at everything around him, astounded by the beauty of this tiny slice of nature in the middle of a planet-spanning city. Someone had taken pains to cultivate the wild, untamed look of a forest untouched by any hand but nature's. He spotted Revan sitting cross-legged under a tree, near the edge of the roof.

Dustil could hear her singing softly with her eyes closed, as he walked towards her. He sat down on the grass near her quietly, content to listen to her slow, sad song.

_ "If the sky opened up for me,  
And the mountains disappeared,  
If the seas ran dry, turned to dust  
And the sun refused to rise  
I would still find my way,  
By the light I see in your eyes.  
The world I know fades away  
But you stay. _

_ If the years take away  
Every memory that I have  
I would still know the way  
That would lead me back to your side.  
The North star may die  
But the light that I see in your eyes  
Will burn there always  
Lit by the love we have  
Shared before time. _

_ When we shed our earthly skin,  
And when our real life begins  
There'll be no shame  
Just the love that we have made before time."  
_

Revan and Dustil sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the breeze play with the leaves and branches of the trees around them. Revan opened her eyes slowly, and smiled at Dustil.

"That was... beautiful," Dustil said.

"Thank you, Dustil. It sounds much better in the original language, but few understand it anymore." Revan leaned back on the trunk of the tree and studied Dustil intently. "Is there something you wished to speak to me about?"

Dustil looked startled. "How did you know?" he asked.

Revan laughed softly. "You get the same look on your face your father does, when he's trying to find the right words to say something." She tilted her head at Dustil. "You are uncertain as to what to make of me, aren't you?"

Dustil said nothing, uncomfortable at hearing Revan's perceptive guess. He nodded.

"Understandable. Let me ask you something, then. Do you believe I deserve to die for what I've done?" Revan asked bluntly.

Dustil was taken aback by Revan's bluntness, but he gave her question some thought before he answered. After a few minutes he said slowly, "I don't know. I think I used to... maybe a part of me still does. But you're nothing like the Revan I've heard stories about, the one who destroyed Telos. I know this after getting to know you just a day. It's... it's hard to wrap my mind around. It feels like I'm betraying my mother's memory, if I don't kill Revan... you."

Revan looked thoughtful. "You've grown so wise, Dustil. I half expected you to point your blasters at me when you found out."

Dustil shifted uncomfortably. "I did want to. My mind just... snapped. But you had just saved my life; you nearly died to save me. And... my father explained to me why he loved you, he told me what you had done for him, what you still do for him."

"I think I agree with the part of you who says I should die. But I'll tell you what a wise friend of mine told me... 'Death is too good for you'," Revan said.

Dustil blinked. "What?" he asked, feeling stupid.

"You heard me. Death is too good for me. My friend also said, that for me to truly atone, I must live each day to the fullest, in a long and healthy life. I had to remember, no matter how painful it is, the people I had killed, the planets I had destroyed. Because the dead have no voice, and so I must carry their memory," Revan said calmly.

"Father said you wanted to die after you found out about your past. He said you... wanted him to kill you," Dustil said after a while.

Revan's eyes grew shadowed in remembered pain. "Yes. I wanted to die, so very badly. To rest, to have peace. So that I wouldn't have to face the fact that I was a murderer, a traitor, butcher of millions. I wanted... release.

"I tried everything I could to get him to kill me. I threw the memory of Telos, you and your mother, into his face. I ground his face in it. I told him to complete his revenge. But... he wouldn't. He told me to do my duty, to finish what I had started. I was so angry at him for denying me my wish."

"Did you want to die, so much?" asked Dustil, very quietly.

"Yes. Death... would have brought surcease of all pain. I was given the privilege, later, by the wise friend I just told you of, of watching her soul pass from this life... into the Force. She showed me what lies on the other side of life, and, and... it is glorious." Revan's eyes grew bright at the memory.

"Oh, Dustil... what I saw then... I have not the words. Not even all the words in all the alien languages I know are adequate to describe what I saw, what I felt. It felt... like coming home, to a place I've never seen. The peace, the joy... I will never feel the like again, until I join the Force, in my own turn." Revan closed her eyes, a soft smile turning up her lips.

"It is a wonder to me, then, that I could find a tiny slice of that heaven in this life. It was your father who made it possible. I never thought, I never dared to even dream, that it was possible. That I could find happiness. That I could find... love." Revan sighed.

"Your father told you what I had done for him... but let me tell you all that he has done for me. Here is a man who has been knocked down and kicked repeatedly in the nuts by the universe, who has had all his aspirations and dreams turned to dust and ashes in his mouth. A man who had nothing left, who has had his heart shattered, without even hope to sustain him.

"And yet. And yet... he still stretched out his hand to me. To me. To the one who had crushed all his hopes in the first place. He would not let me fall into the abyss, even when I wanted to, with all my heart. It was... a profoundly humbling experience."

_ Carth sat in the pilot's seat of the_ Ebon Hawk_, running diagnostic programs on the ship's systems. His hands moved mechanically. He had done the same thing on so many different ships and so many times, he could do it in his sleep. It was really just a pretext for him to watch the woman sitting in the co-pilot's chair. _

_ Revan didn't so much sit in her chair as lay in it, her seatback pushed down as far as it could go. Carth tried not to think of corpses in coffins, but the emptiness in her eyes and blank expression as she stared out the window at the Manaan docking bay was making his skin crawl. _

_ Manaan had been... scary. Ahto City and its various inhabitants had been pleasant enough, but Carth had been scared to death every time they passed by open windows that looked out on nothing but ocean. He had been terrified that Revan would take a dive over the side any second. But she never did. He had found himself ashamed that he had doubted her. _

_ Revan seemed to walk through everything as if in a dream. Or a nightmare. Carth had been amazed that she still had the inclination to help people. She had agreed to defend Sunry, Jolee's friend. Jolee had been equally worried for her. He had confided to Carth that he had tried to speak to her, but it had been like talking to the hard vaccuum of space. He could almost see his words get sucked into the black hole that had replaced Revan's heart. She had smiled and nodded at Jolee, even thanked him, but the smile had never reached her eyes. _

_ Her talk with Jolee would set the tone for all of her encounters with the people on Manaan. Persuasive words would still trip lightly off her tongue; she could even laugh and smile convincingly, but to those who knew her best, they saw nothing but a shell. _

_ Revan never joked or laughed, anymore. Time was he could always hear her voice as she sang softly in the night, her music permeating the entire ship. Laughter could be heard whenever she was with the crew. She had been the only one who had ever dared to tease Canderous, but all that had stopped after her revelation. Carth had seen concern even in the brutish Mandalorian's eyes whenever she passed by him. _

_ He found himself missing all of the flirting and merciless teasing he got every time she was with him in the cockpit. _

_ Damn Saul Karath. Damn the Jedi. _

_ Carth remembered the time when Revan and Canderous had somehow gotten into a bawdy song contest. Whoever sang the raunchiest and filthiest song was the winner. Revan and Canderous had taken it in turns to sing their selection, complete with music T3-M4 had dug up from the Galactic Database. Canderous, surprisingly, had a rather good singing voice. Carth had been roped in to act as an impromptu judge along with Mission, Juhani and Jolee, while Zaalbar looked on. Even Bastila had been intrigued by all the hilarity she heard in the central holo room. _

_ Canderous had conceded the contest when Revan started to accompany her singing with crude and extremely explicit gestures. It had been worth enduring what had felt like a permanent blush to watch the big man turn red as a tomato when he saw what Revan was doing. Carth didn't know how she had been able to keep a straight face and sing at the same time while doing all that obscene gesticulating. It had been amazing, what she could imply with a simple twist of a wrist and energetic hand pumping. _

_ He would never forget the picture of Revan pantomiming cunnilingus with nothing but her hands for as long as he lived. No one had been able to keep from laughing, not even Canderous. Even Bastila had been all but rolling on the floor, for all the blushes and scandalized looks she had sent Revan's way. Revan's eyes had crinkled in merriment every time she saw him blush._

They had laughed for days after the contest; Revan only had to wink or wave a hand suggestively to provoke giggles and chortles. He had been able to track her progress through the ship simply by listening for the laughter she left in her wake. 

_ It had been a happy time, a rare moment where they had all enjoyed a good time in the hectic race to find the Star Maps. _

_ But that was all in the past now, when they had still lived in happy ignorance. _

_ And yet, for all of the deep gouges in her heart and soul, Revan had still found the time to help Queedle with swoop upgrades, Sunry with his trial and the Selkath father with his wayward daughter. Maybe they had just been distractions, but she didn't seem to get any satisfaction from doing good deeds anymore. He didn't think she felt anything at all, anymore, except possibly anticipation for death. _

_ The Hrakert Rift station had been the worst, although all the dark, damp corridors, murderous droids and insane Selkath had paled next to the terror he had felt for Revan when they had found only one environment suit. He had barely been able to keep himself from pacing in panicked circles as he watched her put it on. _

_ "Redeem your word to me," he had blurted, unable to keep silent. _

_ Revan had paused in the act of donning the bulky helmet, and turned to him. _

_ He had felt chills run down his spine when he saw the macabre not-smile on her face. A dangerously fey light had glinted in her eyes. _

_ "I gave it. Will you redeem yours, if the time comes?" she had said, before putting on the helmet and entering the airlock, without another word. Going out to dance with firaxan sharks. _

_ He had kicked himself mentally. _Stupid, stupid idiot!_ he had shouted at himself as he waited in dread for her return. Or... not return. He had been grateful Jolee hadn't said anything. _

_ He had been beside himself with joy when he heard the sound of the airlock opening after what had seemed like an eternity. In truth, only one or two hours had passed. _

_ "Let's go," Revan had said when she had divested herself of the suit. _

_ "You have the last Star Map?" Jolee had asked. Carth had never seen Jolee speak so hesitantly. _

_ "Yes. Almost there," Revan had replied, her voice sounding dead. Carth hadn't known if she was referring to the Star Forge or to the near completion of her vow. Maybe both. _

_ Carth came back to himself with a start, staring at a scanner log. He glanced aside at Revan. She still sat there, unmoving, looking like death on a stick. He cleared his throat. No response. She didn't even look at him. _

_ "I think it's time we talked about Revan. About... you," Carth said. His words seemed to hang in the air between them. For a minute he didn't think she had heard him, until she spoke. _

_ "What is there to talk about?" Revan asked tersely. Her voice seemed as cold and empty as interstellar space. _

_ "I can't hate you. I tried... I wanted to hold you responsible for all the things you've done. For my... for my wife, for Telos... for Dustil. But I can't," said Carth slowly. He rubbed his eyes with one hand wearily. _

_ "Why can't you?" asked Revan after a while, her voice still cold. _

_ "I got the revenge I always wanted when Saul died, but it hasn't brought me the peace that I thought it would. All I can think of now is the promise I made to protect you from what's going to come. It's given me a reason to look past simple revenge." Carth clenched his fists unconsciously. _

_ "Despite whatever part of Revan is inside you, the... the darkness that must surely be there, it isn't who you are. That's why I can't hate you, why I don't want any more revenge. You don't have to be Revan, you can be so much more. Whatever the Jedi did to you, they gave you that chance. _

_ "You have this huge destiny waiting for you, and I just fear that if you're alone it could swallow you whole. I mean, is there room in there for me? Will you let me help you?" Carth held out an imploring hand towards Revan. _

_ "I don't want you hurt helping me," Revan said. Did he see a flicker of something in her eyes? But it was gone before he could identify it. _

_ He took a deep breath and mustered up his courage. "I think I would be hurt worse if I didn't try. Whatever's happened up until this point, there's going to come a time very soon where you're going to have to make a choice. And there won't be any turning back. _

_ "I want you to make the right choice. I want to give you a reason to. You gave me a future. I want to give you a future, too... with me. I think I could love you, if you give me the chance." _

_ Revan didn't speak, not for a long time. Silence stretched between them. Carth's heart plummeted._ She didn't care for him, she didn't feel the same way..._ His thoughts circled around and around like insane birds. He couldn't look at her. _

_ "So. This is what hope feels like. How... how can you bear it?" Revan said conversationally. _

_ Carth looked at her. At the sheen of tears in her eyes. She had not wept since they had sworn their oaths to each other, that dark day. _

_ He couldn't bear it. He scrambled up from his chair and went to Revan. He knelt beside her, tentatively taking her hands in his. They were cold. He slowly chafed them, rubbing his callused palms across her small hands. _

_ "You... you give to me... your forgiveness?" Revan asked in wonder. It was the first emotion he had heard from her since arriving on Manaan. _

_ Revan was starting to shake from silent sobs, her tears falling slowly down her cheeks. He picked her up from the chair and sat down in it himself, cradling her carefully in his lap. He felt the shudders that ran up and down her body. He wrapped her tightly in his arms, putting her head on his shoulder. _

_ "How could you forgive me? I am... a hideous monster!" Revan said brokenly. _

_ He felt her tears trickle down his neck. "You're not a monster. Not anymore. You're the woman I've come to love, so much." He stroked her hair, running strands of it through his fingers. _

_ Revan clung to him, head pressed tightly to his neck, her hands clenched to the front of his jacket. "How very... cruel of you to tell me that, Onasi. I was ready to fall into the pit. Why do you pull me back?" She shook him weakly. _

_ "I've been there before. It's... not a place I want you to be, not alone. It's... hard to climb back out again." He took Revan's face in his hands and leaned his forehead against hers. His thumbs brushed her tears away gently. _

_ "I think I could love you, too," Revan said in a small voice. She looked up into his eyes. He could see hope blossoming there, like a delicate flower. He could feel the same flower blooming in his heart. _

_ "Well then I'm... I'm glad," he said simply. He felt his heart soar to the skies at her words. _

_ They sat there like that, holding each other, for the rest of that day. _

Revan rubbed at her eyes. "He took the heart that I had shattered, that he had so recently, and so painfully, put back together again and... gave it to me. On the beach of a long-forgotten, war-torn world, in front of all the companions who had traveled with me on the quest for the Star Forge. He was asking for my promise, with that gift.

"I couldn't go down with the Star Forge after that... I had intended to die, after I had defeated Malak, in the grandest funeral pyre the galaxy would have ever seen. But I promised him... I had given my own heart in return. I couldn't possibly disappoint him."

_ Revan, Jolee and Carth stood in front of a massive door on the command deck of the Star Forge. The dead bodies of Dark Jedi and Sith soldiers littered the ground at their feet. One could follow the trail of their progress through the huge alien space station by watching for the piles of corpses they had left in their wake. _

_ Revan reached out a hand towards the door, almost but not quite touching it. "She's in there. I can feel her." _

_ Carth tightened his hands on the hilts of the two vibroblades he carried. His heart was in a turmoil of emotions. He looked at the small woman next to him, but he couldn't read her face. It had worn a mask of calm, ever since they had reached the Star Forge. It had never wavered, even in the face of seemingly infinite waves of Sith and Dark Jedi. _

_ The oath she had made to him, in the dark confines of the_ Ebon Hawk_, sworn in her own blood, was nearly complete. She had kept her word to him, that she would live long enough to find the Star Forge, and defeat Malak. They were nearly there. Only one more obstacle lay before them. _

_ Bastila. _

_ He was afraid. So afraid for Revan. Afraid that she would die here, on the Star Forge, after fulfilling her vow. He had done his best to give her a reason to live. He had told her he loved her, in front of everyone. But... was it enough? Did she even care? She had said she loved him, too, standing on the beach with her soul shining in her eyes, but was it enough to keep her alive? Was he a fool to believe-- _

_ He suddenly felt a pair of small hands grab the collar of the heavy exoskeleton he wore, yanking his head down abruptly. Revan's lips met his with bruising force. _

_ He dropped his blades, letting them fall with a clatter. His hands dropped to Revan's waist and pulled her roughly to him. _

_ He tasted of the sweet saltiness of her sweat. Of the tears that were trickling down her cheeks. Of a flavor that was, somehow, uniquely Revan. The fierceness, the sheer intensity of the kiss shook him to the very core of his soul. He felt her hand run through his hair and clench there, almost painfully. _

_ Revan looked into his eyes. The mask was gone, as if it had never been. He saw the joy, the hope and determination shining in them. "You gave to me your promise, down on the beach. I just gave you mine," she whispered hoarsely. She ran her hand along his jaw. _

_ Carth watched Revan turn abruptly and face the doors again. She opened them and strode forward to meet Bastila. _

Revan inhaled deeply and lapsed into silence.

Dustil sat and thought about what Revan had just said, and about the song she had sung. She packed so much emotion into so few words, he needed time to unpack everything in his head.

After a while, Revan turned to Dustil and asked, "Did your father tell you about what was done to me? Did he tell you just how much this second chance cost?"

"No, not really. He just said you had lost everything, when you found out who you really were," Dustil replied. He wondered where she was going with this.

"I did. I had a mind wipe. I have nothing left of Darth Revan save a few broken memories. I've only had one real flashback, so far. Do you think it an adequate punishment?" asked Revan.

"I don't know. Maybe. I don't really know much about mind wipes," Dustil replied.

"Let me try to put it into perspective for you. Try to imagine that everything in your past... your mother, your father, your childhood friends... never existed. None of the memories I have... are real. My first kiss. My first day at school. My first successful smuggling mission. The first time I made love. All of these memories are as ephemeral and real as a dream." Revan hunched and wrapped her arms around her knees. She stared at Dustil without seeing him.

"How... do you cope?" Dustil asked quietly.

"I try not to think about it too much. But... I am still ambushed, in the dark hours of the night, by the fact that I lived a lie. That I cannot remember so many important events and people in my life.

"I wonder if madness doesn't lie around some corner. Will I suddenly have all the memories of Darth Revan someday? I hope not. I hope not. Too much truth... really would drive me mad." Revan still stared through Dustil. Her blind gaze was making him extremely uncomfortable.

"I am punished, every day that I still live." Revan's eyes looked at Dustil directly again. She cocked her head. "Is there any better penance than what I endure now? Do you agree that death would have been my reward and not any kind of punishment?"

Dustil rubbed his brow. He was disturbed and shaken by Revan's candid confession.

He had no memory of taking out his blaster pistol, but he suddenly had one pointed at Revan's head, right between her eyes.

Revan never flinched as Dustil pressed the barrel to her forehead. She just looked at him in silence, with a small, sad smile on her lips.

Memories of his training at the Sith Academy swam up in front of his mind. Weakness was a sin, something to be taken advantage of. Lesser creatures would bow before his power and strength, simply because they were the weaker and he was the stronger.

Dustil had agreed with the Sith philosophy. If he had been strong, he would have been able to save his mother. Telos would never have been destroyed, if he had been able to help defend it. The illogic was apparent to him, but not to his heart.

His fingers clenched on the worn, smooth grip of the blaster pistol. He suddenly recognized it as his father's. The irony would have made him laugh, if he didn't feel like crying. Or screaming.

Dustil stared at Revan. She was still calmly sitting there on the grass, looking as if she had not a care in the world. Her eyes were full of peace and serenity.

How did she turn weakness into strength? Was she so much stronger? Was she so confident that he wouldn't blast her, or was it because she wanted death? Courage, confidence or a death wish? He couldn't decide.

His finger trembled on the trigger. Revan was watching him. She hadn't reached for her lightsaber, or used the Force to hold him. He knew she was fast enough to knock the blaster from his hand, even at point-blank range. But she didn't.

Dustil's arm trembled. The pistol dropped from his nerveless fingers, to fall with a soft thump on the grass. He sat down abruptly, breathing hard, as if he had just run miles in minutes.

Revan had been watching him struggle with indecision. Now she reached out a hand to slowly pick up the pistol. She extended it to Dustil, grip first. He stared at it, then at her. He cautiously took it from her, and reholstered it.

They regarded each other in silence. There was no sound but for the noises of the city, the whispering of the trees as the wind passed through their branches, the faraway honks and beeps of traffic.

"I... can't hate you. If what you say is true... then you're not the person who bombed Telos, not anymore. If I killed you... my father would never forgive me. And I don't think I'd ever forgive myself. I can't help but think that my mother would never approve, for all that she died by your hand," Dustil said.

Dustil waved a hand at Revan. "You saved my life. I, I think that should count for something. A life for a life--"

"--a tooth for a tooth," Revan finished the ancient saying for him.

Dustil's face hardened. "This doesn't mean I've forgiven you. But... I should give you a chance. My father did... and he hasn't done too badly by it. Just... don't screw it up."

Revan smiled at Dustil. "A chance is more than I had ever hoped for. Thank you."

Revan's head turned unerringly to the doorway. Dustil also looked, curious to see what she was staring at, but he didn't see anything. After a few moments, his curiosity was rewarded by the appearance of Carth.

Dustil watched the joy alight in Revan's eyes when she saw his father. Carth's face widened in a smile, too, as he walked towards them. He saw the love in their every move and gesture, in the looks they gave each other. He wondered if he himself would ever find love like theirs.

Carth sat down on the grass next to Revan, taking the hand she extended to him. He kissed the back of it, and tucked it in his own.

"Hey, flyboy. Or should I say, Admiral Flyboy?" Revan said mischievously.

"Hah. I'm not an admiral yet. Just because Admiral Dodonna gave me the rank pips doesn't mean I am one," Carth retorted.

"Why not? Don't you get a spiffy new uniform and shiny boots with the job? I can't wait to see how much gold braid you'll be sporting," Revan said, eyes dancing.

"I like my old uniform just fine, thank you. Besides, I... I don't think I'm cut out for the job, anyway," Carth said. He looked at Dustil. "So what was your bet with Revan, son?"

"She told me Admiral Dodonna was going to promote you to Admiral. I said that was ridiculous, that the Fleet wouldn't jump someone so many grades. I said rear admiral was the highest you'd get... not that I don't think you'd make Admiral, or even Fleet Admiral, pretty darned soon," Dustil said shyly.

Carth smiled at the pride he heard in Dustil's voice.

"What do you mean, Carth, that you're not cut out for the job?" asked Revan.

"I mean... the Fleet doesn't need me anymore. I never joined up because I wanted the rank or medals or honors. Or the glory. I did it because I wanted, I needed, to protect the ones I love," Carth said slowly. He put a hand on Dustil's shoulder. "And I screwed it up." Dustil looked sad, but he shook his head, putting his own hand on his father's.

Carth looked into Dustil's eyes. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought you'd be safe. I never, I didn't even know I was losing the very people I was trying to protect, when I was away for so long, neglecting you." Dustil squeezed his father's hand.

Carth blew out his breath. "Well, I won't make that mistake again. I'm, I'm resigning my commission."

Dustil gaped at his father's announcement. Revan looked... not surprised, but gratified.

"You'd... you'd give up your career? For... me? But, but I thought being a soldier was, was your life," Dustil stammered in surprise.

"No, no... you, you and your mother were my life. You still are. Being a soldier was just a means to an end, my way of making sure you'd grow up in a better world, a better galaxy, than I did. I failed. But I was given another chance, out of all expectation. And I damn well won't let this second chance get away," Carth said fiercely.

"You know I would support you, whatever decision you made, Carth," Revan said softly. She held his hand in both of hers. "But... I'm glad you decided this way."

Dustil still looked stunned, as if a fundamental feature of his world had suddenly dropped out of sight. "I... I, I don't know what to say, Father, except... thank you. I knew you were serious about making things right between us, but I never knew... I never knew you'd give up the military."

"The Fleet is nothing to me without you, Dustil, you and, and Revan. Life is nothing without you. I am so lucky, and so blessed, that I found you again. That you gave me this second chance." Carth squeezed his son's shoulder.

"Everybody deserves a second chance, Father. You gave me a second chance in return." Dustil looked at Revan. Carth saw a look and some kind of understanding pass between them. He wondered what that was all about.

Dustil coughed and decided that this was a good time to change the subject. "Father, I learned an important lesson today."

"What's that?" Carth asked.

"Never bet with a Jedi," Dustil replied. He made a face at Revan.

Revan chuckled. "The loss of 200 credits hitting you hard, Dustil?"

Dustil grinned at her. "I consider it a fair price for the lesson."

Carth smiled with pleasure at the new ease with which Revan and Dustil acted around each other. It had been a deeply-held fear, that his lover and son wouldn't get along, considering the possible bad blood between them. But he supposed Revan's charisma had won her yet another convert.

"So what all did you two do today? Besides buzz the Fleet Admiral's office with a speeder," Carth said. He looked sternly at Revan, who pasted an innocent look on her face. Butter would not have melted in her mouth. "You're lucky none of the guards shot you."

"I had a plan if that happened. Dustil would drive while I deflected any blaster fire," said Revan, unrepentant. Carth shook his head at her.

"Anyway, we just went shopping. Dustil traveled light, so he didn't have much of a wardrobe. We went to the local clothing shops, since I had to pick up some more outfits for myself, too." Revan sighed. "That was my best civilian outfit the Sith shot up. Heck, it was my only civilian outfit. Not to mention what remained of my shirt would've gotten me arrested on certain planets." She looked slyly at Carth, who went pink. Dustil suppressed a laugh, not entirely successfully. Carth humphed at him.

"We went to the weapons emporium, too. We've still got plenty of weapons and armor, enough to open our own shop, but Dustil had used up the entire stock of grenades I had collected in our little adventure," Revan continued.

"You should've seen her dickering with the Aqualish, Father. He was so surprised that she could speak his language, he gave her a discount on thermal detonators," Dustil added.

"And there was a sale on plasma grenades, too. I couldn't resist," Revan said.

Carth laughed. "Another woman would have talked about sales on shoes and dresses, but only you would gush over a sale on grenades."

Revan grinned. She hopped to her feet and extended her hands to Carth and Dustil. She pulled them to their feet. "Come on, JC-01 should've finished making lunch by now."

They went eagerly back to their suite.

* * *

The song Revan sings is the theme song from the movie _Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon_, called "A Love Before Time"; music by Jorge Calandrelli and Tan Dun, lyrics by James Schamus.

The conversation between Carth and Revan where he tells her he can't hate her in the Ebon Hawk is dialogue I lifted straight from the game.


	9. Attack

**Chapter 9: Attack**

Revan and Carth walked arm-in-arm along the streets towards their building, admiring the bright lights of the Coruscanti night. It was a beautiful clear night, so they had decided not to take their speeder.

Dustil had been left to practice his shooting, watched over by T3-M4 and HK-47, and everyone else had their own evening plans. Mission and Zaalbar had disappeared early in the morning, on what mysterious errands Revan didn't know, and wasn't sure she wanted to. Jolee and Juhani were staying at the Jedi Temple.

Revan and Carth had seized the opportunity for an evening alone together, catching one of the many shows Coruscant had to offer.

Revan was once again 'incognito', dressed in a very dark blue suit, with lace at her sleeves and collar. She wore a truly ridiculous floppy hat on her head, presumably to hide her face. It even had a large feather stuck to its brim. A tailcoat hid her lightsaber.

"That was a good show," Revan said to Carth as they strolled through the crowds. "I've never seen a play with real live actors before. That I can remember, anyway."

Carth smiled at her. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I've never been to one, either, actually."

"I think the manager nearly popped a blood vessel when he saw you wearing your blades," Revan said, smiling in memory. "You have to admit, you looked pretty weird, wearing your blades dressed in formalwear."

Carth scowled a little. "I left them at the desk before we went in, didn't I? I don't know what he was so upset about. He didn't say anything about your lightsaber."

"What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Just as well, really. The swords would've made sitting in your seat rather uncomfortable," Revan said.

They were about to turn towards their home when Revan dragged Carth away.

"What? Wait, where're you going?" Carth asked in bewilderment, as he was towed towards another building a few blocks away.

"Company," Revan said shortly.

Carth's hands twitched. "Sith again?"

"They could just be ordinary muggers armed with blasters, maybe," Revan replied. Her hand came up, seemingly to brush her hair, but she was actually speaking quietly into the communicator on her wrist. "HK-47, activation code: Revan-34-137-82. Activate protocol: Eggs Basket. Acknowledge," she whispered.

They walked into another building, this one currently empty as it underwent renovation. The space was littered with building materials and inactive construction droids.

Carth's eyes darted here and there, searching for exits and enemies. "What was that?" he asked Revan quietly.

"Insurance. After the other night at the spaceport, I sat down with HK-47 to create a contingency plan if that ever happened again. I hate surprises of that nature as much as you do," Revan replied. Her communicator beeped.

"Statement: Acknowledgement, Master. Query: Are there meatbags to be terminated, Master? Supplication: Please, please!" HK-47 said in a tinny voice from Revan's communicator.

"Maybe, HK, but I'd like some left alive for questioning. Now get to it," Revan said before cutting the signal.

"What's this 'Eggs Basket' thing?" Carth asked as he and Revan headed for the elevator.

"'Don't keep all your eggs in one basket.' And it's just something that'll hopefully gather all of these assassins in one place," Revan said as she stepped into the elevator. She saw a flicker of movement at the exit in the corner of her eye.

Revan pressed the button for the roof. "Give me a leg up, flyboy."

Carth got down on one knee and cupped his hands into a stirrup. Revan stepped on them and opened the door on the ceiling of the elevator. She leapt up through the aperture.

Revan examined the floor openings moving past as Carth heaved himself up next to her. She used the Force to pull the emergency brake lever, bracing herself as the elevator shuddered to a halt. She pointed out the handholds she saw on one of the walls to Carth.

"I hope this ploy gives us a little time," Revan said absently as she grabbed of one of the handholds.

"You sure know your way around here," Carth commented to Revan as he climbed through the opening out onto one of the floors. It was dark, with debris and leftover materials all over the floor. The only light came from the dirty windows that looked out onto the city.

"I was shopping around for a place to live, if you must know. A place... just our own," Revan said as she climbed out and stood next to Carth, after using the Force to release the elevator. "I noticed this place was being renovated, so I had the real estate agent give me a tour." She scrambled over the litter carefully, heading for the stairs.

"What's wrong with the place we've got now?" Carth asked. _Was she thinking that far ahead?_

Revan took Carth's hand and called on the Force to get them up the stairs quickly. The walls blurred past as they pattered up at high speed. "Nothing, just that it's not ours. The Senators might take it into their heads to get it back, someday."

They emerged onto the roof, puffing a little, only slightly out of breath, thanks to the Force.

The engine noises of a dozen speeders welcomed them.

Revan pulled out her lightsaber and activated it. Carth drew his vibroblades; they came out with a soft, silken hiss from his scabbards. They stood back to back as Sith dropped out of their speeders and surrounded them.

Revan narrowed her eyes when she heard the sounds of other lightsabers igniting. She had felt the presence of two Dark Jedi, even as she had seen sinister shadows in the streets near their home.

Revan and Carth retreated to the edge of the roof, trying to limit the fronts on which they would have to fight. She called on the Force to protect herself and Carth.

Two Dark Jedi, dressed in black hoods and masks, shoved themselves through the Sith to the front. She noticed the other Sith cringe away from them fearfully.

"Revan. Do you have any last words?" one of the Dark Jedi asked sardonically. He flipped his double lightsaber up in a mockery of a salute.

Revan pushed her hat back off her head, letting it hang from her neck. "Yes. _Fuck you._" She and Carth chose that moment to rush the two Dark Jedi, who were startled by their aggressive attack.

Revan flipped a somersault and came down with her lightsaber separated into two halves. The Dark Jedi parried her blows and swept his own lightsaber at her head. Revan ducked, hooking her foot behind his ankle and bent her knee, unbalancing the Dark Jedi. Her right lightsaber swept his saber aside, her left raking him along his ribs as he just barely managed to turn his body to the side.

Revan caught a blow from the Sith's lightsaber on her own. She could hear Carth busily fighting the other Dark Jedi. The clangs and crackles of his vibroblades meeting a lightsaber filled the air.

The Dark Jedi threw a violently orange-colored bolt of lightning at Revan, trying to sap her strength, but she shrugged off the effects, secure in her Force protection. She twirled her lightsabers, feinting left and right, moving faster and faster, confusing the eyes of her opponent. Orange and cyan-colored light wove into a disorienting pattern.

The Dark Jedi blinked his watering eyes and tried to smash Revan's defense apart with brute force. He lunged at Revan, his lightsaber streaking a bloody red when he saw what looked like a hole he could exploit. It was a trap, however, as she took advantage of his fatal mistake to plunge both of her lightsabers into his chest, sliding to the side as he went past.

A Force wave slammed into Revan, hurling her through the air. She was grateful she hadn't been thrown over the roof, even as she desperately twisted her body around, trying to land on her feet. Her foot twisted under her and she collapsed in a heap, several dozen feet away.

The horde of Sith who had quietly surrounded Revan and Carth as they fought the Dark Jedi charged at her in a black mass. Others started to fire their blasters at her.

Revan threw the oncoming Sith to the ground with a Force wave of her own, slashing her lightsabers through the air to deflect blaster fire. She rolled to her feet and tested her ankle, grimacing as pain shot up her leg when she put her weight on it. She Force healed herself and ran back over the groaning bodies of stunned Sith to Carth, who was still locked in combat with the surviving Dark Jedi.

Carth's suit was now burned in several places where the Dark Jedi had managed to get blows in with his lightsaber. The Dark Jedi himself was not unscathed, though, as he bled from several sword wounds on his arms and legs.

Revan was glad she had convinced Carth to wear a nerve capacitor belt constantly. He must have been able to resist the Force powers thrown at him so far, since he hadn't been incapacitated yet.

The Dark Jedi threw lightning at Carth, making him scream and drop to one knee in pain, as his skin and hair burned. Revan threw herself at the Dark Jedi, hitting his back with a two-footed kick. She rose to her feet and crouched over Carth protectively as he recovered, using the Force to heal his burns.

The Dark Jedi clambered back to his feet, throwing lightning at Revan as he stood. She took the lightning in the teeth, hissing as white-hot tendrils of fire crawled all over her body, but the Force protected her from the brunt of it. She took advantage of the Dark Jedi's momentary stillness to stab his sword arm with her lightsaber. He screamed and dropped his lightsaber.

Carth loomed up behind the Dark Jedi and sank both of his blades up to the hilts into the Sith's back, so forcefully they protruded out from his chest.

Revan spun to face the rest of the Sith. She felt Carth stand at her back. The Sith opened fire with their blasters, now that the Dark Jedi no longer blocked their line of sight and they wouldn't have to worry about hitting one of them with friendly fire.

They were at an impasse. None of the Sith seemed willing to close to meet either Revan or Carth hand to hand, having seen them take care of the two Dark Jedi. Revan and Carth were pinned by the Sith's blaster fire, though neither of them were taking any damage, thanks to Revan's blaster bolt deflection.

Revan slowly paced backwards, pushing Carth with her, towards the edge of the roof.

"Why don't we charge straight at them? If we can move fast enough, we could break right through and get to the stairs," Carth muttered into Revan's ear.

"We'd be surrounded the moment we move away from the edge. And even if we do get through, it'll only turn into a running fight in the narrow stairwells," Revan muttered back to him.

"Uh, why are we moving this way?" Carth asked Revan as they moved steadily backwards. He wished he had some grenades to throw into the tightly-packed mass of Sith. Or blasters. Hell, he might as well wish for a capital ship laser to fry them all.

"Got a plan," Revan said shortly.

They had reached the edge. Revan looked back down behind her, the wind blowing her hair across her face. She attached her lightsabers back together smoothly, without interrupting her deflection. "Trust me?" Revan asked softly.

"Always," Carth replied, without hesitation. He wondered what crazy plan she had come up with this time.

Revan wrapped an arm around Carth's waist and leapt backwards.

Right off the edge of the building.


	10. Counterattack

**Chapter 10: Counterattack**

The Sith gaped. They rushed to the edge of the roof, not noticing the increasing noise of a rapidly approaching speeder. The first ones in the front looked over the side. They received blaster bolts to their faces for their trouble.

"Exclamation: Eat blaster fire, meatbags!" HK-47 cackled as he fired his blaster rifle from the backseat of the speeder as it rose over the edge of the building.

T3-M4 beeped beside HK-47, popping thermal detonators into the tightly-packed crowd of Sith. Bodies were shredded and burned as the detonators exploded in the middle of them.

Revan plowed the speeder right into the Sith, knocking down the ones who hadn't been thrown to the ground by the grenades.

Carth stood in his seat beside Revan, lopping off the limbs of any Sith who tried to get into the speeder, or were just standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The Sith in the rear were suddenly thrown into the air like dolls. Revan saw the flashes of green and blue lightsabers through gaps in the Sith crowd. Brilliant bolts of lightning flashed in her vision. Screams of pain and fear could be heard, along with cries of dismay as the Sith realized they had been attacked in their unprotected and unguarded rear.

Carth cut off the arm of a Sith who had tried to shelter near the speeder from the grenades still raining down. "More Dark Jedi?" he asked Revan as his other blade cut into the Sith's chest. He disengaged his sword with a twist of his wrist, and looked around for more enemies in his range.

"Dark Jedi who don't use red lightsabers? No, it's Jolee and Juhani!" Revan replied. She smiled grimly.

"Disappointment: More friendly meatbags mean fewer hostile meatbags for us to slaughter, Master," HK-47 said mournfully as he laid down a blanket of fire.

"Didn't I say to keep some alive for questioning, HK? Besides, you're the one who called them, didn't you?" Revan asked as she spun the speeder in a circle, knocking down the Sith in their rear.

"Commentary: A meatbag can still be questioned, even with limbs missing, Master. Although I admit that it will be hard to get anything other than screams from it. Yet another way in which droids are superior to meatbags. Correction: And I did not call the two Jedi meatbags."

"Yeah, well, this meatbag can fry your circuits with the Force, just remember that. So show some respect!" grumped a voice from the darkness.

"Statement: The Master would never let you harm me, old meatbag," HK-47 retorted. A flamethrower extended out from his body and spewed fire all over several Sith trying to clamber into the back of the speeder.

"Don't get my hopes up, Jolee," Carth muttered as he leapt over the side and waded into the mass of Sith surrounding it. Revan did the same on the other side, turning on her lightsaber with a snap-hiss, leaving the droids to provide suppression fire.

"Exclamation: I heard that, meatbag!" HK-47 cried after Carth.

Revan ducked under a Sith's overhead strike and used the Force to throw him from her, giving herself more space to fight. Her Force wave met Juhani's, and Sith were thrown against each other, knocking them around even more. The sounds of bones breaking and wailing filled the air.

Revan slipped around the speeder to Carth's side, slotting in next to him smoothly, like two halves of a machine. She used the Force to hold the Sith in stasis, giving her and Carth ample time to hit them before they could hit back. She heard HK-47's glee when he saw all the stationary targets just under his sensors.

Jolee and Juhani were much closer, now that the Sith had been thinned down enough for Revan and Carth to see their faces as they rolled up the Sith from the rear.

The moment the Sith could move again, they threw down their weapons and called their surrender, arms raised to show empty hands. Carth's bloody blade stopped inches before it was about to decapitate one of them.

Revan saw the fear in the Sith's eyes and shook her head, deploring the waste of it all. She had the remaining Sith put their hands on their heads and squat on the ground.

"This... is getting tedious," Revan said as she surveyed the carnage on the roof. She heard sirens rapidly approaching. The police, late again, as always.

"Tell me about it. Nothing like a Sith ambush to really ruin a romantic date," Carth grumbled as he used his handkerchief to clean his swords. He would need to buy more if this kept happening.

Revan nodded and turned to Jolee and Juhani, who had turned off their lightsabers and were now picking their way delicately over the bodies of fallen Sith. "Jolee, Juhani, I'm so glad to see you two. Thanks for the assist," she said as she clapped her hands on their shoulders.

Jolee waved away Revan's thanks irritably. "I didn't see you needing any help, my dear, but we couldn't not come when Juhani and I felt the disturbance in the Force." He toed the body of one of the Dark Jedi. "I see we arrived too late, anyway."

Carth scowled at the bodies of the Sith covering every inch of the ground. "Where the hell did these guys come from? We get rid of fifty the other night, and now they came back with two Dark Jedi, and even more Sith!"

Revan watched the police gather up the bodies of the Sith and take the ones still alive, or able to walk, into custody. A familiar-looking police captain approached her cautiously.

"It is strange that they should target you and Revan, but not Jolee, Bastila or I. Or Mission and Zaalbar," Juhani mused as she examined the corpse of the Dark Jedi.

"I don't see anything strange about it, Juhani. Revan's the former Dark Lord; whoever kills her gets prestige and bragging rights, maybe enough to become the new Dark Lord," Carth said as he dropped his bloody handkerchief to the ground. He resheathed his blades and looked glumly down at his ruined suit.

"And what about the war hero and 'saviour of the galaxy', eh? Bet they've got you near the top of their short list," Jolee commented. "Besides, Juhani, we're usually in the Jedi Temple. The Sith would have to be insane, to try and take on the largest collection of Jedi on Coruscant." He paused. "Not that insane doesn't describe most Dark Jedi down to a T."

Revan was speaking to the police captain now, who was making interesting hair-pulling motions and wildly waving his hand at the scene of slaughter. She made soothing hand motions and pulled her hat from her neck to wave it around.

"Where did she get that ridiculous hat?" Juhani asked, amused, as she watched the negotiations. Revan was now holding her hat in both hands, turning it around and around by its brim, looking contrite. Her sincerity must have convinced the police captain, because he threw up his hands and turned to direct the efforts of the other police in rounding up any Sith still alive.

Carth shrugged at Juhani. "Knowing her, it was probably on sale. On anyone else it would look absolutely absurd, but when she wears it, it makes her look really stylish." He felt a smile quirk his lips as he looked at Revan. Juhani smiled.

Revan twirled her hat and put it back on with such panache, Jolee, Juhani and Carth had to laugh, unnerving the Sith and police near them. The feather, much the worse for wear, flopped dejectedly down her back. The brim drooped rakishly over one eye. She grinned at their laughter.

"Jolee, Juhani, surely you can stay long enough for a cup of tea, and perhaps a midnight snack?" Revan asked as she approached them. Carth nodded his agreement of her invitation.

"Yeah, why don't you come on back? Least we could do for you, helping us out here and all," Carth said as he climbed into the driver's seat of the speeder. "JC-01 said something about a new batch of cookies he made."

Jolee's and Juhani's faces lit. "Ah, you really know how to tempt a Jedi, don't you?" Juhani said, smiling.

"What, to the Pastry Side? Beware the Cookie Side of the Force, for it will make you fat and give you cavities!" Revan teased, wiggling her fingers at Juhani. Juhani laughed.

"There is no emotion, there are cookies," Jolee intoned solemnly with a straight face, making Revan, Carth and Juhani laugh. He squeezed in next to T3-M4 and leaned an elbow on the little droid's head, while Juhani sat next to HK-47.

Carth took the driver's seat and drove them down the few blocks to their home.


	11. Purposes

**Chapter 11: Purposes**

Revan had just entered the door to their suite when she was nearly bowled over by a blue ball of energy. "Revan, you're okay!" it said. A Wookiees roared in relief. Dustil stared anxiously at her and Carth from behind Zaalbar.

"Mission! I'm okay, yeah. Calm down, everything's alright," Revan said as she draped a comforting arm over the distraught Twi'lek rogue.

"Query: Shall I blast the meatbag assaulting you, Master?" HK-47 asked hopefully.

"No. There will be no blasting of anyone or anything, especially not in here. Go with T3-M4 and recharge or something," Revan said in exasperation.

HK-47 managed to pout despite his lack of lips, but went off with T3-M4 to their recharging stations.

"Mission, I'm glad you and Zaalbar are here, but I really need to go clean up. Jolee, Juhani, you know where the guest bathroom is," Revan said to the other Jedi, who nodded and moved off. She gave Mission a quick hug before dragging Carth along to the refresher.

When Revan and Carth came back out, she with her customary robes and him in a worn uniform, they found the others sitting around the table in the kitchen, eating cookies, while JC-01 stood by with hot beverages. Zaalbar had his own Wookiees-sized plate.

Juhani noticed Revan's thoughtful frown. "What are you thinking of, Revan?"

Revan sat down and held up a cookie, looking at it thoughtfully before biting into it absentmindedly. "That the attack on us tonight stinks. Of what, I don't know, yet. But I'd bet all the considerable number of credits I have that it's linked to the same one on Dustil." Dustil and Carth looked alarmed.

"How can you tell?" Carth asked worriedly. "You think they'll try again?"

"Bloody, bloody hell. Yes, I think these attacks won't stop until we're dead. And there's more of them than there are of us." Revan bit into her cookie forcefully.

"Damn. Well, what're we going to do, then? Hide?" Carth's grimace showed how distasteful he found that option.

"Me and Big Z'll help, Revan! Whatever it takes!" Mission said. Zaalbar nodded.

Revan smiled at the inseparable pair. "Thanks." She sighed. "There's good news, and bad news. Good news is, we've probably taken down the best they've sent against us. Any subsequent attacks will probably have less capable people. The bad news is, that could mean they'll just use methods that will be either more subtle or less. HK-47 would be quite glad to list all of them for us, I'm sure."

"That still doesn't answer the question of what we're going to do. Why haven't the Jedi Order or the police gotten back to us on this?" Carth asked irritably.

"Both organizations are probably still investigating. It's only been a day or so since they attacked us in the spaceport," Revan replied. "As to what we do... well, we'll just have to take the battle to them."

Jolee looked skeptical. "And just how do you expect to find them, my dear? Space is a big place to hide in."

Revan shook her head. "There must be trails we can follow. They're getting credits and weapons from somewhere. Weapons which may have makers' marks on them." She rubbed her brow tiredly. "Although digging through all the clues are more in line with what the police can do. They have the resources and manpower to do the investigating."

"Well, I don't like sitting here doing nothing. I feel like a walking target, now," Carth said. He sipped at his caffa, frowning.

"We may not have a choice, Carth, unless the Force gives us a vision, or the police and Jedi between them get a break in the case," Revan said, equally disgruntled at their helplessness.

Jolee made a small noise of dawning realization in his throat. The others looked at him inquiringly. "I think somebody may have had that premonition or vision, Revan. Something, anyway. The High Council has been closeted for hours today. That's why it was only Juhani and I who came to help you. I wouldn't be surprised if you received a summons from the Temple tomorrow."

Revan raised her eyebrows at Jolee's certainty. "Really? Where's Bastila, anyway?"

"She's out with the Republic Fleet, mopping up the remnants of the Sith army. Apparently she knew a great deal of their operations when she turned to the Dark Side and became Malak's apprentice," Juhani answered.

Revan grimaced. "Bet she enjoyed hearing that. I hope she doesn't get too many painful flashbacks."

Carth looked at Revan, face grim. "It's only what she should do, to make up for helping the Sith."

Revan waved a hand impatiently at Carth. "Yes, yes, I know. I told her that, myself. I can't help feeling for her, though. She won't find many friends in the Fleet." She turned to Mission and Zaalbar. "What are you two doing here, anyway? Taking a break from troublemaking?"

Mission looked indignant. "_Troublemaking?_ We weren't!" Zaalbar shook his head at Revan from behind the Twi'lek. Revan looked amused at the young scoundrel's protests. "Well, okay, maybe a little. But only if they started it first!"

Zaalbar growled at Mission.

"Oh, yeah. Well, we came to tell you something, actually, but then I heard a report on the police band that you, or someone who looked like you, were in a big fight somewhere. We came running, but it was already too late! If me and Zaalbar had known, we would've come and help kick some Sith ass!" Mission said.

"Monitoring the police band, huh? Not that I'm surprised," Revan said, smiling. "What did you want to tell me?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, we were coming here to tell you that, well, we want to go back to Kashyyyk, so that Zaalbar can take over his father's job," Mission said. Zaalbar vented a growl. "Yeah, I know it was my idea, but I thought it was what you wanted!" She poked at the Wookiees.

"Is it, Zaalbar?" Revan asked the Wookiees. Zaalbar nodded, a little sheepishly. "Well, I certainly have no objection. Do you hesitate because of the life debt?" Zaalbar nodded and growled.

"Yes, you owe me your life, but I surely owe you mine a dozen times over. You've helped me so much, Zaalbar, if anything I should--" Revan stopped speaking abruptly. A smile appeared slowly on her face. "Hmm. Yes..."

Carth raised an eyebrow at her. "What?"

Revan didn't answer, but stood and beckoned to Zaalbar before entering the living room. The others followed, curious to see what she was up to.

"Zaalbar, do you have Bacca's Blade?" Revan asked when she stood in front of Zaalbar in the middle of the room.

Zaalbar nodded and unsheathed it from where he had it slung across his back. He held it out to her, one hand gripping it carefully by the guard, hilt crossed over his wrist.

Revan took the sword in her left hand. "Zaalbar, son of Freyyr, I swear mutual life debt to you. Your enemies are my enemies, your troubles are my troubles. Let there be no obligation or debt between us. Only honor, and friendship. Unto death."

Revan grasped the naked blade with her right hand and drew it slowly across her palm, her face showing no signs of pain. Blood spurted and dripped to the floor. She offered the bloody sword over her wrist to Zaalbar.

Zaalbar had gaped at Revan in shock since she had first spoken the words of her own version of the life debt to him, but now he took the blade carefully from her. He drew it across his own right palm, then transferred it to his bleeding right hand and held it back out to her, point down.

Revan solemnly placed her right hand on the hilt protruding from Zaalbar's furry hand, letting her blood drip down over it to run slowly down the blade, mingling with his own.

"By my blood, I so swear," Revan said simply. She turned her head to look at the others, who were staring at her with wide eyes. "Witness!" Her voice seemed to thunder in the room.

Juhani, Jolee, Dustil and Carth nodded. Carth smiled at Revan. Mission's eyes were still wide in surprise.

Revan smiled at Zaalbar, and used the Force to heal both of their wounds. She showed him the thin, fine scar on her bloodstained palm. "There, I've sworn my own life debt to you. We are bound together by honor, wherever we may both go. Can you go back to Kashyyyk now, with a clear heart and conscience, and rule wisely and well over your people?"

Zaalbar resheathed Bacca's Blade and nodded. He growled.

Revan shook her head. "I merely balanced both sides of your vow, Zaalbar, no thanks is necessary. Go in peace, and may the Force be with you." She paused. "But perhaps not tonight, surely?" She sat down on a couch and looked at Mission. "You're going with him, Mission?"

Mission blinked. She nodded. "Yeah. Where Zaalbar goes, I go. I was thinking, you know, with those Czerka creeps gone, someone should manage the spaceport, you know? I could do all that stuff, like talk to visitors and translate for the Wookieess."

Revan smiled. "I think you'd be perfect for the job, though you might need some training and a staff." She pursed her lips in thought and turned to Carth.

"Maybe you could ask your contacts in the Fleet, Carth, if there are some retired soldiers who'd like a change of pace and would like to move somewhere clean, with fresh air? And really tall trees."

Carth nodded, smiling. "Sure, there are lots of people who retired from the Fleet who still itch for adventure. I'll make some calls tomorrow."

Revan turned to Jolee. "And maybe a few Jedi would like to see if the Shadowlands have good meditation spots? There's already a humble little cabin there."

Jolee pursed his lips, eyes crinkled. "Sure, must be lots of old farts, er, Jedi, who'd like to get away from the hectic rat race of life, and meditate somewhere quiet. Well, relatively quiet."

Revan turned back to Mission and Zaalbar. "I hope you don't mind my unilateral decision to send you some help. But I think Kashyyyk, being what and where it is, may be vulnerable to reprisal from Czerka or the Sith. Or some other Czerka wannabee who wants to take over their operations. I hope Freyyr won't mind another seeming invasion of his village."

Mission shook her head. Zaalbar growled.

"Yeah, Big Z's right, we never even thought that far ahead, Revan, thanks!" Mission hugged Revan. Zaalbar clapped a huge hand on Revan's shoulder. Mission nodded her head at Zaalbar when he growled. "Yeah, Freyyr totally won't mind if we're on his side."

"Hey, it's the least I can do for my little sister and friend, right?" Revan hugged Mission back. She noogied the Twi'lek. "Promise you'll call me if you get into trouble, right?"

Mission squirmed around in Revan's grip, but couldn't escape. "Ow, ow! Alright, I promise, I promise! Stop!" she giggled. Revan laughed and let her go.

"When do you plan to leave?" Revan asked, draping an arm around Mission's shoulders.

"Well, today we've been scouting out the best places to buy supplies and stuff to bring to Kashyyyk. Once we pay the credits, we can leave in, oh, maybe a week. But... you're being hunted by the Sith now, we can't just waltz off into the sunset and abandon you!" Mission said, looking worriedly at Revan.

Revan shook her head. "The fewer targets the Sith can find, the better. You and Zaalbar should be safe on Kashyyyk, where I wouldn't have to worry about you. If it weren't for Carth's own vow, I'd like to see him out of harm's way, too."

Carth sat down on Revan's other side and took her hand in his. "No way are you getting rid of me, beautiful. Like Jolee said, I'm on a little Sith list, myself, anyway."

Revan took out her hand and cupped Carth's face. "I know. You gave your word, I don't question it." She turned back to Mission and Zaalbar. "If what Jolee says is true, can you wait the day or so to see what the Council says? Then we can go to Kashyyyk in the _Ebon Hawk_. Just like old times."

"Sure! That'd be great!" Mission smiled. She tried to suppress a yawn, but was not quite successful.

Revan looked at the time display. "Wow, is it that late already? Mission, you should get to bed if you're tired." She made a little shooing motion at the scoundrel.

It was a sign of her exhaustion that Mission did not protest, but instead went to the door to get to the suite she shared with Zaalbar.

"Oh, alright. Come on, Zaalbar, we've got lots to plan in the morning. G'night, everyone!" Mission said before she stepped through the door. Zaalbar chuffed and followed her, waving his goodbye at the others.

"Jolee, Juhani, why don't you stay here tonight? We've got no shortage of guestrooms. You wouldn't have to make the trip back to the Temple," Revan suggested. "And JC-01 will make you breakfast."

"Well, since you put it that way, how could I refuse?" Jolee said with a grin. Juhani nodded.

"Well, good night, kids. This old man is tired, too." Jolee waved and headed towards a bedroom. Juhani smiled, nodding to Carth and Revan, and moved to her own room.

"Good night, Father, Revan. See you in the morning," Dustil said to his father and Revan, before disappearing into his room.

Revan blew her breath into Carth's ear. "I think our little vacation is coming to an end, flyboy. Let's make the best of what time we have left." She looked at him from under her eyelashes, her half-lidded eyes sparkling.

Carth felt her hand move up his thigh and smiled. "Let's get to it, then." He stood and held out his hand to her, pulling her up. They moved to their own bedroom.


	12. Progress

**Chapter 12: Progress**

"... And this is the altitude indicator," Carth explained to Dustil as he stood behind his son in the cockpit of the _Ebon Hawk_. They had spent the early morning hours there, just the two of them, Carth teaching Dustil the basics of how to operate a starship.

"Okay, let's go over that again. Tell me the function of each control." Carth pointed at controls randomly, listening as Dustil rattled off descriptions. He beamed proudly at his son when he finished. Dustil returned his smile. Carth imagined that things weren't so awkward between them now.

"You're a quick study, son."

"Thanks, Father. This... this reminds me of the times you took me on Republic Fleet ships. I got to sit in your seat, but my feet couldn't touch the floor." Dustil fingered the controls absently as he recalled those times.

Carth looked upon the same memories. He smiled. "I remember. You tried pushing all the buttons and levers you could reach. Glad the ships were in dock then."

Dustil grinned sheepishly. "I'm big enough now for my feet to reach the floor now, at least."

Carth laughed, and slapped his son on the shoulder. "Let's see you run through the flight checks." He dropped into the co-pilot's seat and watched.

Dustil ran through the checks slowly. Carth could see him ticking off each item on a mental list.

Carth mentally congratulated Revan on her brilliant, cunning plan, for him and Dustil to be alone together, using flying lessons as the excuse.

_You and Dustil need to spend some time together, just the two of you, and without me around to make things awkward. Start catching up on all those years you were away._ Revan had told him that when she had rousted him out of bed before dawn. His lips twitched upwards as he remembered just how she had woken him up.

Carth doublechecked Dustil's work on his own panel. "Great job. You didn't leave out anything. Let's take this lady up and try a few simple maneuvers."

Carth watched his son take the controls and gingerly ease the _Ebon Hawk_ up out of the docking bay with care. This was a far cry from the time they had first met after four long years on Korriban.

He let himself watch Dustil with half his attention as he recalled that day.

_ Revan, Carth and Jolee walked through the dark, echoing stone corridors of the Sith Academy. Revan had just been accepted as an aspiring student into the school by Master Uthar, and they were now going to her 'room', such as it was. The Sith clearly did not believe in privacy, as they passed alcoves with beds and footlockers. _

_ Carth watched Revan beside him. She carried herself in what he thought of as her 'fight or flight' mode: her eyes darting all around, her hands twitching towards her lightsabers, in a gliding, slightly-crouched walk. Like a fell cat stalking prey. Not even in the dangerous Shadowlands of Kashyyyk or the sewers of Taris had he seen her so tense, so alert. _

_ He knew her well enough by now to think she would fight, not fly. She didn't seem to know how to retreat. She never ran from a battle, of words or swords. He was grateful for her tenacity. It had saved their lives, on more than one occasion. _

_ Revan turned to Jolee, a hand caressing the pommel of a lightsaber at her belt. "Ever get the feeling you've been dipped in shit and you just know you'll never get it all off?" she whispered to the older Jedi. _

_ Jolee raised a grizzled eyebrow. "Can't say that I have. Should I go find out where the baths are?" _

_ "A bath wouldn't help, because that's what this place is making my mind feel like, and I can't clean it up because it's all in my head!" Revan hissed through gritted teeth. "This place is giving me a serious case of the heebie-jeebies." _

_ Jolee put a hand on the hilt of his own lightsaber. "I do know the feeling, my dear. If you'll excuse an old man's babble... the residue of the pain and deaths of so many have created a dark miasma, coating the walls like mud. The tortured dead still walk these halls, and they are not happy campers." _

_ Carth felt the hairs on the back on his neck prickle at Jolee's words. He, too, felt nervous and jumpy in this place, and he wasn't even Force Sensitive. He suppressed a shudder. He only had to look at the two Jedi to see how much worse it was for them. _

_ It was a sure sign of trouble that Jolee wasn't cracking any irreverent jokes or telling them another long, pointless story. And Revan was not the carefree woman he'd known since Taris. She hadn't teased him, not even once, since landing on Korriban. _

_ They had reached Revan's bedroom, passing by Yuthura Ban, who nodded at her. Revan nodded back. She rummaged curiously in the footlocker, and held up a set of black Jedi robes for a minute, before letting it drop. She sat down on the footlocker and waved Carth and Jolee to sit on the bed. Her fingers beat a nervous tattoo on the lid. _

_ Revan leaned towards the other two and spoke in a low voice. "I want to get off Korriban as fast as humanly possible, my friends. I'm going to try and break the record for the fastest initiation in the history of the Academy. In one day, two days, tops, I want to have explored this whole place and this Valley I overheard someone talking about." _

_ She looked at Carth's anxious face. "Our first priority is Dustil. We need to gather information, anyway, so Jolee, I want you to make a reconnaissance of the school. Time the patrols and see what you can overhear, but don't talk to anyone. They probably won't take kindly to slaves speaking out of turn." Jolee snorted, but he nodded agreement. _

_ Carth clenched his hands into fists. "Thank you. I... I really appreciate this. I know the Star Map's important--" _

_ Revan reached out and grasped Carth's shoulder. "The Star Map has been sitting here for at least four years, if not longer, if what the droid said in the Dantooine ruins is true. It's not going anywhere. Dustil is much more important. To you, and thus, to me." She slid to her feet. "Let's go." _

_ They passed Yuthura again. Carth watched and listened as Revan reluctantly agreed to Yuthura's treasonous plan. She took the opportunity to not only get a list of prestige-gathering tasks, but also wheedle the Twi'lek's life story out of her. Before they moved on, Yuthura was calling her 'friend'. And not sarcastically. _

_ Carth shook his head. Revan made friends in the most unlikeliest of places and of people. It would never cease to amaze him. _

_ Revan passed by a young man kneeling on the floor. Jolee and Carth stood back while she convinced him to leave the Sith and join the Jedi. Jolee smiled his approval at her. _

_ They turned and continued walking, reaching a corridor leading to the center of the Academy. _

_ "Jolee, go and check the patrols. Let me know what their schedule is. I get the feeling we'll need to do some skulking around here, and I've never liked working blind," Revan whispered to Jolee. _

_ "Yes, Master. Of course, Master. Whatever you say, Master." Jolee bowed and scraped mockingly. He looked slyly up at Revan, who grinned involuntarily. Carth had to smile, too. _

_ "Don't make me take a whip to you, old man!" Revan threatened, stifling giggles with her hand. _

_ Jolee smirked unrepentantly, and glanced at Carth. "Save it for pilot boy there. He'd appreciate it more than I would." He turned and walked off before she could retort. _

_ Carth reddened. Revan had to stuff one hand into her mouth to muffle her laughter. Her eyes narrowed in mirth at his embarrassment. _

_ "You're so cute when you're embarrassed," Revan sputtered in between giggles. _

_ Carth glowered at her. "Ha, ha. Laugh it up, beautiful. Can we go find Dustil now?" _

_ Revan sobered. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I know it seems like I'm not taking this seriously, but I am. This place... it's really getting on my nerves. I think Jolee knew that, and made that joke to relax me." _

_ Carth shook his head at her. "It's okay. I'm just... I'm just nervous, too. I keep wondering what kind of man Dustil's grown into. What he looks like now. How could he join the Sith, when it was the Sith who bombed Telos? What have they done to my son? My only son..." He clenched and unclenched his fists unconsciously. _

_ Revan placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as they continued walking. She looked at the student alcoves they passed by. She spotted a face that looked uncannily like Carth's. Her hand tightened. _

_ Carth looked up and saw what she was staring at. "Dustil," he breathed. He took long strides to the young brown-haired man, leaving Revan to trail more slowly behind him. _

_ Revan put on her best Pazaak face, letting nothing show of her emotions or thoughts. This would not go well, she knew instinctively, when she saw the man's face twist with rage when he saw and recognized Carth. _

_ To say the reunion between Carth and Dustil did not go well would have been the understatement of the century. _

_ Revan and Carth walked in silence from Dustil's alcove. Revan could almost feel Dustil's sneer on her back. _

_ Carth had felt each word as a stab to his heart. His mind had staggered under the blows. It was still reeling. This... this wasn't the reunion he had hoped for. He should have known, of course. He was such a fool, to think he could just show up and talk to his son and then everything would be all right. _

Everything was not all right. Things would never be all right, ever again.

_ Revan had kept a calm, cool facade throughout the tense conversation between father and son. She had convinced Dustil to at least hear his father out. She was glad she had distanced herself from Carth before speaking to his son. She dreaded what ammunition Dustil would have made of her then. _

_ She had felt hot anger spike when she heard Dustil say those horrible things to Carth. Her hands had itched to slap him. She had stamped her rage down with difficulty. This place... it resonated with such dark emotions, amplifying them out of all proportion. _

_ Carth walked in a fog of misery back with Revan to her 'room'. He felt Revan's hand squeeze his arm. He collapsed on her bed and covered his face with his hands. He had had such high hopes when they had walked through the doors of the school. _

_ His hopes, along with his heart, now lay broken at his feet. He was such a fool. Such a stupid, stupid fool. A small part of him wished he had never met his son here. _

_ He felt Revan sit down beside him, and felt her place an arm on his shoulders. _

_ "I'm sorry, Carth. I... know this meeting wasn't... wasn't all you thought it could've been," Revan said tentatively. _

_ It was suddenly all too much. Discovering his son was still alive, only to find him with the Sith, and then Dustil's rejection of him... He sat up and turned to Revan, his arms going around her so tightly he heard her breath escape her. He buried his face into her sweet-smelling hair. _

_ Revan, surprised, hugged him back. She raised one hand to stroke the back of his neck soothingly. _

_ "He hates me. My son. He's... he's not my son, anymore. He doesn't want to be my son..." Carth said brokenly, his voice muffled. He felt her warm breath stir the hair near his ear. _

_ "'We only hurt the ones we love.' I think that... buried somewhere deep, very deep inside his heart, he still loves you. If he didn't, he would not have cared. He would not have said those... painful things to you. There's still hope, Carth. You mustn't falter, not when you have this chance. When you're this close. And I'll help. I promise." _

_ "It hurts. It hurts, so much. I keep thinking that he's right. That I did abandon him and, and my wife on Telos. I... I don't think I can bear it." He closed his eyes tightly and tried to burrow his face into her hair. Trying to hide from cruel reality. _

_ "I'm here. You don't have to carry this burden all alone. I'll help you find that proof, even if I have to use the Force to pry out every block and take this school to pieces. I... would do anything for you, whatever you asked of me." _

_ Revan felt his body shiver and tremble. She held him tightly and put her mouth closely to his ear. "In the moonlight I felt your heart, quiver like a bowstring's pulse..." she sang softly to him as she stroked the back of his head slowly. _

_ By the time she had finished singing, he was leaning limply against her, no longer shivering. He didn't hold her in a death grip anymore, but she still hugged him to her. _

_ Her closeness, her song... it was surprisingly easing to his aching heart. Though he really shouldn't have been surprised. She was like a pool of calm, in this dark place. And he might taste of the waters that she offered freely to him... _

Since when did you become so poetic, Onasi?

_ He had never been this near to her before, except when he had carried her out of the escape pod. He took in one last, deep breath of her scent and stirred. She let him go. _

_ Did he imagine her reluctance, moving her arms away? He wasn't thinking straight, probably. _

_ Revan looked intently into his tired eyes. "Feeling better?" _

_ Carth nodded. "A little. Thanks. I've been saying that a lot today, haven't I?" He rubbed his face. He felt his despair flash over into rage. He growled softly. "I'll pay them back. I'll make them all pay for what they did to Dustil..." His head pounded with the strength of his anger. It seemed to grow like a wildfire. _

_ "Steady on, Carth... As much as you'd like to kill everyone in here, it wouldn't help. It'd only prove to Dustil that you're no better than the Sith. And we wouldn't be able to find his proof with everyone here trying to kill us. Besides, there are some who can still be saved." Revan looked worriedly at him. _

_ Carth inhaled deeply, letting his breath out after a few seconds of holding it in. She was right. She would always think of others first, like convincing that Algwinn kid to leave the Sith. "Yeah... I guess you're right. Thanks again." He ground his heel on the anger. It was difficult, more so than usual. _

_ Revan caught his hands, holding them in her cool grip. "You don't have to thank me. It's only what I should do, as your friend." She took her pipe out from her robes and looked at it sadly. "I wish I could play this for you and cheer you up. But I'm already in a position of weakness because I'm new here. Doing a song and dance would only make them think I'm a total pansy." _

_ Carth glanced at her. "Dance?" He privately thought that anyone who considered her a 'pansy' would get their ass kicked into orbit before they even knew what was happening. _

_ Revan looked slyly at him. "I can dance, too, yes. Thought I showed you that, back on Taris." _

_ Carth's lips quirked at the memory. "I remember. It was... quite a show." _

_ Revan leaned close and whispered into his ear, "I even know some dances where I take all my clothes off." _

_ Carth blushed. His imagination insisted on leaving mental images that lingered. He shifted. "I'm not even going there, sister." _

_ Revan laughed softly at him. He smiled at her. Only she could make him laugh and smile at a time like this. He felt the rest of the anger drain away as he chuckled. That was probably the entire reason why she had teased him so. _

_ "I'm glad I could make you smile again, flyboy." Revan smiled at him, relieved. She turned at the sound of footsteps and a presence approaching them. Jolee. _

_ Jolee saw the two of them sitting closely together on the bed. He hid a smile. "While you two were lazing about and slacking, I found out a few things." He sat down on the footlocker. _

_ "Do tell," Revan said, pulling her feet up to sit crosslegged, unmindful of the stains her boots would leave on the sheets. _

_ Jolee tapped the information into her datapad. Revan pressed a finger, each in turn to her thumb, as she perused her pad. Index, middle, ring, pinky, over and over. A sure sign of furious thought. _

_ "I noticed Uthar's room is the only one here with a door. He's also the headmaster. It would make sense that any bodies would be buried in there, yes?" Revan said slowly. _

_ "Not literally, I hope," Jolee commented. _

_ "Me, too." She looked at her chrono. "If I go now, I'll be able to catch a patrol just as it leaves that area." _

_ Carth frowned. "We should go with you," he said worriedly. _

_ "You know I can't sneak about with the two of you stomping around behind me like a herd of bantha. I'll be back before you know it." Revan jumped up from the bed and rounded the corner before Carth could say anything. _

_ Jolee felt Revan's presence leave, but it paused just beyond sight of the bed. He looked at Carth, who was still sitting on the bed looking worried. "I'll be right back, Carth." _

_ Jolee walked past Yuthura Ban, and saw Revan's shadowed figure waiting just beyond. _

_ "The reunion with Dustil didn't work out as we'd hoped, Jolee. I'm worried about Carth. Keep watch over him, don't let him do anything... unconsidered. Put him in stasis if you have to," Revan whispered to Jolee. _

_ Jolee shook his head in sympathy; he had felt the despair radiating from Carth. He nodded. "I will, don't worry about it. Now, shoo! Go find something that'll cheer your pilot back up." _

_ Revan gave the old man a relieved grin and slipped off, becoming just another shadow among many here. _

_ Jolee returned and shrugged at Carth. "She knows what she's doing, Carth. Leave her be." Carth got to his feet and paced, unable to keep still as worry gnawed at him. _

_ After half an hour, Revan glided back into her alcove, startling Carth. He had been about to go and find her. Jolee had been able to sense her presence, so he was not surprised when she turned off her stealth generator. _

_ "I hit paydirt." She handed a datapad to Carth. "I'm not as good as Mission when it comes to skulking around and picking locks, but I'm not too shabby." _

_ Carth eagerly skimmed through the text on the pad. "This... this is it!" he said excitedly. He paused. "I shouldn't be so happy Dustil lost his friend, but... I am." _

_ Revan nodded sadly. "The Sith give power with one hand, and take humanity in the other. A high price many are all too willing to pay. Bah, I sound like Bastila now. Come on, let's go show this to Dustil." _

_ They went to Dustil immediately. The theft of the datapad paid off handsomely. Revan smiled as Dustil and Carth made their goodbyes, strained and tense though they were. It was a beginning, at least, where once there had only been a bitter end of the road. _

_ Revan and Carth walked back to her alcove. Revan was glad to see that Carth's steps were lighter, and some of the lines of care on his face had eased a little. _

_ "Do you think you'll see Dustil again?" Revan asked Carth softly. He looked distracted. _

_ Carth glanced at the smuggler-turned-Jedi, seeing the concern and sympathy in her eyes. "I hope so. I guess I'll have to wait and see. Thanks, by the way... for all your help." He smiled. _

_ Revan smiled back. "I told you before, no thanks are necessary." She hugged herself suddenly, as if she were cold. _

_ "Are you all right?" Carth asked. Revan had dropped her arms back down to her sides, resuming her walk, though he could see she kept one hand on a lightsaber. _

_ Revan grimaced. "I won't be until we get off this dismal planet. Let's get Jolee and check out this Valley. Sounds like real nice vacation spot. Not." _

_ They collected Jolee and went into the Valley of the Dark Lords. It proved to be a busy, busy day of tomb robbing and corpse looting. _

_ Revan, Carth and Jolee returned to the Sith Academy, laden with the weapons and items they had found in the tombs of long-dead Dark Jedi. Well, not so dead, in the case of one of them. _

_ Revan sat down on the bed and stretched each limb at a time. Carth winced at the pops and crackles of her bones popping and muscles stretching. She sprawled facedown onto the mattress. "No wonder so many students fail. This must be the most dangerous, grueling and cruel obstacle course devised by the Sith. Sadistic bastards." _

_ Jolee looked amusedly at her. "It wouldn't have been so bad if you hadn't insisted on doing everything in one day. And running through mines instead of disarming them." _

_ Revan turned her head and squinted at Jolee. "I didn't want to waste time disarming them. Do you want to stay here another day?" _

_ Jolee pursed his lips and shook his head. "I don't want to stay another hour." _

_ Carth sat down on the bed next to Revan. "You should get some sleep. You have to do the last trial tomorrow... and we can't go with you." He was extremely worried about that. What dangers infested Naga Sadow's tomb? No one had survived the final test, not since Uthar had changed it to a hunt for the Star Map. And she had to face the headmaster alone in there. _

_ "Right." Revan groaned, but pushed herself off the bed and flipped onto the floor, dragging one of the blankets with her. She folded it into a pad and sat on it crosslegged. "Peace is a lie, there are only hard stone floors." She sighed. _

_ Carth blinked. "What're you doing?" _

_ "The Corellian Two-Step. What's it look like?" Revan rolled her eyes at him. _

_ "The bed's here." Carth pointed. _

_ Revan shook her head. "I'm not going to be sleeping. I'll be meditating until tomorrow." _

_ Carth gaped at her in disbelief. "What? You need to rest if you expect to _survive_ tomorrow!" _

_ "I _am_ resting." Revan took out a handkerchief and folded it over her eyes. "You take the bed if you want." _

_ "You need to get some sleep, and you won't get it sitting on the floor." Carth tried to sound stern. It had about as much effect on Revan as it did on stone. _

_ Revan snorted. "Sleep? Here? You must be joking. I'd rather share a sarcophagus with a maggoty, rotting corpse. It would be more restful and ever so much more pleasant. You're not Force Sensitive, so you can't feel the, the darkness in this place. I'm not leaving myself open to it. More open to it." _

_ Carth turned to Jolee. "Help me out here!" _

_ Jolee shook his head. "Sorry, but I have to agree with her. I won't be able to get my beauty sleep here, either. I might as well take first watch." _

_ "Then we should go back to the _Hawk_!" Carth ran a hand through his hair frustratedly. _

_ Revan shook her head. "They'll see it as a sign of weakness. I'd rather not have to spank anybody for disrespect any more than I need to." She heard Carth sigh. _

_ Carth stared at Revan. She was a damned stubborn woman. Absolutely infuriating. He considered, for a brief moment, sticking her with a sedative. Then he decided it would be A Very Bad Idea. She'd take him to pieces if he tried and failed. _

Not that I'd blame her if she did.

_She had hair trigger reflexes, especially in places that made her tense. _

_ And she was very tense here. Very, very tense. _

_ Carth tried again. "Look, are you sure--" _

_ "You will bloody well sleep on the bloody bed and you will bloody well like it!" Revan snapped. _

_ "Okay, okay, no need to bite my head off!" Carth made soothing motions with his hands before he realized she couldn't see them. _

_ Revan muttered under her breath. The only words Carth understood were 'ungrateful wretch'. The rest was probably profanity. _

_ Jolee listened appreciatively. "Technically, that's anatomically impossible, but I do admire the inventiveness of your invective. I should take notes." _

_ Revan snickered, but she sobered after a moment. "I don't dare sleep here, Carth. I, I feel like I'm under siege... and invaders are swarming over the scaling ladders, and the gates are failing." She ran a hand that shook slightly through her hair. _

_ Carth looked at Revan carefully. She did seem less energetic than usual, much more so than a day spent running around tombs, even dangerous tombs, could explain. She held herself so confidently, he hadn't noticed until now. _

_ Revan sighed again. "Good night, Carth, Jolee." She put especial emphasis on the first two words. _

_ Carth sighed again and took off his armor before lying back on the bed. He put his blades within easy reach. "I hope none of the Sith walk in on us. What're they going to think, our 'master' sleeping on the floor and one of her 'slaves' on the bed?" _

_ "They'll think I tired out my love slave after hours of hot, passionate sex," Revan said dryly. She leered cheerfully at him. She looked bizarre, as she stared blindly at him with a blindfold on. She waggled her eyebrows comically. _

_ Jolee laughed. Well, more like cackled. _

_ Carth blushed, but his lips curved up, unwilled. It was getting to be a common occurrence around her. He tried to muster up some sort of outrage at her remark, but only managed to feel strangely disappointed that it wasn't true. Well, maybe it wasn't so strange. _

_ He turned over, away from Jolee's laughing face. He tried to come up with a snappy rejoinder, but couldn't think of anything that wouldn't invite further teasing. "Good night," he said, quellingly. _

_ He listened to Revan's controlled breathing as it slowed and deepened. He closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep. _

*** * ***

_ Bastila sat in the pilot's chair of the _Ebon Hawk_, trying to compose her soul in patience. She was deeply worried for Revan. This was Korriban, a Sith world, and she could feel the darkness of this planet. She hoped it had not corrupted Revan, though the older woman had resisted the lure of the Dark Side quite admirably, so far. Indeed, some of the decisions Revan had made turned out to be wiser than what she herself would have done. _

_ At least Revan had taken Jolee with her. Bastila was not sure she approved of the irascible old man, with his irreverence for the Order and the Code, but he was still a Jedi, of that she was sure. _

_ Bastila shook her head. Revan and Jolee were two of a kind, both of them unable to be serious for five minutes when it came to speaking about the Jedi Order and its teachings. _

_ The communicator came to life, startling Bastila out of her reverie. "This is Carth to the _Ebon Hawk_, do you read?" She could hear his breathing coming slightly labored, and she heard the sounds of running footsteps. She slapped the button. _

_ "This is Bastila, Carth, what's your status? Where is--" _

_ "No time to explain, Bastila! We need to lift off as soon as we get to the ship. Get everybody else back onboard and start firing up the engines. Carth out!" He cut the signal. _

_ Bastila wondered what could have happened to drive Revan, Carth and Jolee back so quickly and urgently. She called the others on their personal communicators and explained the situation. Fortunately, they were all nearby in Dreshdae. In a few minutes, she saw them on the scanners, before hearing them mill around in the holo room. _

_ Bastila started the preflight checks and cleared them for takeoff with Korriban's Flight Control. And then there was nothing to do but wait. _

_ She stilled her fidgeting, scolding herself for not keeping her Jedi composure, even if there was no one to see. What could have happened? And how had they gotten the Star Map so quickly? _

_ Finally, she saw Carth, Revan and Jolee arrive on the scanners. Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw that Carth was carrying Revan in his arms. She took the _Hawk_ up out of the docking bay as soon as the ramp closed. Then she put the controls on autopilot before rushing out. _

_ Bastila found the three of them in the tiny sickbay. Mission and Juhani hovered worriedly in the doorway, staring at Revan's limp form on the pallet. She reached for their bond, but felt only a crushing weariness from Revan. _

_ Jolee looked up from the monitors at Bastila's entrance. "Don't worry, it's only exhaustion." _

_ Bastila gasped at the state of Revan's robes. They were cut badly in several places and dirty with grime. Bloodstains and some sort of ichor were spattered all over them. She could see parallel rips in places, as if rent by a claw. At least the edges of those rips weren't bloodstained. Revan looked pale and wan, and she had dark circles under her eyes. She looked almost transparent. _

_ Bastila could hear Revan mumbling. "_Two_ bloody terentateks. Two _bloody_ terentateks. Two bloody _terentateks

_ Carth tried to make himself small so that he wouldn't get in Jolee's way. He explained to the others. "She had to do the last test by herself, and she hadn't even slept the night before. When she got back to the Academy, the other students and staff attacked us. We had to fight our way out, and then she collapsed when we were about to go back into Dreshdae." _

_ Bastila and the others looked baffled. "Why didn't she sleep before the test? That was stupid!" Mission cried. _

_ Carth nodded. "I said the same thing, but that place made the inside of even my head itch, and I'm not even a Jedi." _

_ Jolee looked grim. "She wouldn't stay there another minute, if she could help it. She ran through all the tombs and tasks in one day. Didn't even bother to disarm the mines and booby traps. Just ran right over them, picked herself up, used the Force to heal her wounds and just kept right on going. Damndest thing I ever saw. And I've seen a lot of strange things." _

_ "But she's okay now, right?" Mission asked, staring at Revan with concern. _

_ Jolee nodded. "She's fine, but totally exhausted, like I said. Fighting two terentateks by yourself will do that." _

_ Bastila was amazed she had even survived two terentateks, much less killed them by herself! She tried to rouse Revan. "You need to get some rest. Your bunk will be much more comfortable, wouldn't it?" _

_ "Mmn," was all Revan said. Mumbled. _

_ Carth scooped Revan up. "I'll take her to her bunk. I don't think she'll be going anywhere under her own power for a few days. You'll have to change her clothes and burn the rags; I don't think they're salvageable. We found a set in some caves... it's in her pack." _

_ Juhani nodded and took out a set of brown Jedi robes from the pack deposited hastily by the doorway. She folded it over her arm and followed on Carth's heels. _

_ Carth felt Revan snuggle closer to him in his arms, her head tucked under his chin. He hugged her sleeping body tightly as he walked to the women's quarters. _

Carth returned his attention to Dustil when he saw that they had reached orbit high above Coruscant. The spires of the city glinted and sparkled through the cloud cover.

"How was that, Father?" Dustil asked hesitantly.

"Great! Really smooth, son. Excellent work," Carth grinned at Dustil. His son smiled proudly back at him. "You know, why don't we take a short break?" He got up from his seat and beckoned Dustil to follow him to the galley.

They sat down on chairs in the tiny galley, nursing mugs of caffa. Carth looked at his son over his cup. "Son... could you tell me what you've been up to, after... after you were captured?" His face darkened and his hand clenched tightly on his mug. "They treated you all right?"

Dustil looked into his caffa, as if he found something interesting in it. "Yeah. Yeah, I was..." He looked up at his father. "It... it wasn't all bad, Father..."

They spent hours talking there, high above the skies of Coruscant. There was some pain and awkwardness and tension, as they spoke of what happened after Telos, like two strangers trying to find some common ground. The murmur of their voices merged with the hum of the engines.

But it was a start.


	13. Remembering

**Chapter 13: Remembering**

Dustil entered his bedroom, marveling again at the luxuriousness of it. It was worlds away from the privacy-less alcove he'd had at the Sith Academy. And much brighter.

He yawned. His father had gotten him out of bed for flying lessons almost before dawn. Well, he'd had to wake up around that time back at the Academy, too, but he'd been hoping to sleep late. Still, he'd had that leisure after leaving the school for a while.

Funny how Carth would share the same teaching trait with Uthar, though his father probably wouldn't appreciate the comparison.

His talks with Carth on the ship turned out to be quite interesting. It was rather easy, getting to know this stranger who was his father. He looked forward to more of it, strangely. He'd hated and resented his father for so long.

And it turned out that the reality was completely different from the mental image he'd conjured and built up from half-remembered memories. Some of it was due to Sith lies... but the rest of it had been his own fabrication.

He winced at the memory of the words he had said to his father on Korriban. He needed to apologize to him for them, soon. They were justified, maybe, but what he remembered of Carth's face when he'd said them stabbed his heart with guilt.

He made up his mind to apologize as soon as he saw his father again. He took off his clothes and settled on the bed for a short nap. Or maybe a long one. His father had gone off on some sort of errand that he'd been mysteriously close-mouthed about, and was unlikely to wake him up before mealtime.

Dustil dreamed.

_ Fire rained down from heaven. _

_ The school principal had announced, in a shaking voice full of barely-suppressed panic and fear, that the school was to be evacuated immediately due to the Sith bombardment. It was a redundant announcement, as he had been able to see the fires and smoke from the windows. _

_ The teachers had herded them all to the auditorium, where parents and staff milled around like a herd of confused beasts. _

_ No one noticed him shove through his schoolmates and slip out the doors, the teachers having their hands full of distraught parents and children. _

_ Dustil ran as fast as he could towards his home, fear pounding in his head as his feet pounded the pavement. He could see flashes of light lance down from the sky, and where they hit, blossoms of fire rose into the air. _

_ He gaped in awe as a building, fire licking at its base, toppled majestically as its foundation exploded, falling against another. Unable to take the weight, its neighbor, too, collapsed. More buildings fell in the chain reaction, crushing the tiny people he saw. Choking dust blew into the air, mushrooming into the streets for several blocks. _

_ He ran on, hearing the distant booms of more explosions and cries of the wounded. People were running in all directions, the shrill wails of ambulances and the sirens of militia vehicles adding to the cacophony. He eeled through the crowds, trying to keep from being trampled. _

_ The distorted noise of the colony's PA system reached his ears. He could barely understand what they were saying, only able to catch a few words. _"Wah wah wah evacuate wah wah wah Sith wah wah bombing..."

_ Probably trying to direct people to shelters, according to outdated and obsolete evacuation plans that had never been practised or used. It was unthinkable, after all. Telos was not a strategic military target, though it boasted a small Republic station. _

_ He was breathing heavily now, and there was a painful stitch in his side. He blinked his tears away. He wasn't the only one crying as people passed by him, sobbing. In grief? Anger? Fear? Some amalgamation? He choked as a cloud of smoke wrapped itself around him. _

_ Smoke and fire was starting to obscure what had been a beautiful, sunny day. Strange shadows turned the familiar into the sinisterly unfamiliar. _

_ A black shape flitted across the darkening sky. Dustil's mouth went dry when he found that he couldn't recognize it. The sleek, dangerous lines of the craft was neither Republic nor militia. His father had shown him holos and had taken him to the Republic station's hangars. That ship resembled none of the vessels that had been docked there. _

_ Another shadow joined the first. And another, and another, until an entire swarm of them seemed to blacken the whole sky. _

_ And now he could see delicate lines of fire belching from their laser cannons, striking into the crowds. Targetting what? People? Militia? Dustil looked around frantically, trying to find shelter. Even as he scrambled under the dubious protection of an awning, he wondered if it was futile. _

_ He scrambled from shelter to flimsy shelter, trying to evade the sight of those ships as he tried to find his home. _

_ Fire raged not far away, licking hungrily up towards the sky. The dancing, flickering light, clouds of dust and the steadily-dimming sunlight made everything a nightmare landscape of dark and gray hues, leaching the color from everything and confusing his sense of direction. _

_ A cry in a familiar voice. "Dustil!" _

_ He turned towards the sound of someone calling his name. "Mother!" _

_ There she was, running towards him, heedless of the people in her way. Her arms reached out to him. _

_ He ran as fast as he could to her, his sight of her disappearing and reappearing as people got between them. _

_ A giant blow to his entire body knocked him senseless to the ground. When he came to a few seconds later, feeling like one whole bruise, he saw that everyone else had been thrown, too. _

_ He raised himself to his knees, coughs wracking his body as more smoke was blown into his gasping mouth. He blinked watering eyes as he looked around him. Where did she go? Was she hurt? "Mother! Mother!" he screamed. _

_ There! No... no! Blood had covered her somehow, soaking into her dress. _It wasn't hers, it wasn't hers, it wasn't hers..._ He repeated the mantra over and over in his head as he crawled laboriously to her. He clambered over bodies (corpses?), his hands and knees scraped badly. _

_ His mother turned her head. _She was alive!_ he thought elatedly. He tried to move faster. Blood was leaking from her lips, he realized with horror. _

Dustil_, she mouthed. A hand stretched towards him weakly. Her eyes widened in fear as she looked at something behind him. _

_ Footsteps had been approaching for some time now, but he only now noticed it. Shouts that came out from synthesizers reached his ears. An armored hand grabbed him roughly from behind, and he felt the shock of a stun baton on his side. He was being dragged away. _

_ "We've got another one," he heard someone say. He struggled, losing the battle to remain conscious. His mother had raised herself on her arms, but collapsed again even as he watched through clouding eyes. More blood was pouring from her mouth as she cried his name over and over. _

_ "Dustil, Dustil!" she screamed as she tried to crawl after him. Her legs trailed behind her uselessly, leaving crimson streaks on the ground. _

_ That was his last sight of his mother, as he was tossed like a sack of offal over an armored shoulder. _

_ Was that the sound of laughter falling all around? _

_ A woman's laughter. _

_ Revan's. _

Dustil sat up, gasping. He breathed in large gulps of air. He was covered in cold sweat, and he shivered as his blankets slid off. He rubbed his face with his hands, to find his cheeks wet.

He hadn't had that particular nightmare for a long time. His anger had usually kept it at bay. For a while, anyway. The memory was still as clear today as it was four years ago.

But the laughter... the laughter was new.

Rage suddenly tainted his vision with red. "Revan," he snarled. The anger filled his body with a familiar energy. He got up and threw his clothes back on.

He nursed his anger, building it into a roaring fire. It was something he had done at the Sith Academy, filling himself with it until it claimed his every waking moment. Back there it had been a potent weapon, and now he took it back up in eager hands.

He walked into the living room, and saw a neat rack of weapons on one wall. He took a sword at random, a well-balanced longsword. It would do.

Dustil turned at the sounds of treads.

"How may I serve you, Master Dustil?" JC-01 asked as he came out of the kitchen.

"Where's Revan?" Dustil asked. The part of him that always stood apart from the rage was surprised at how steady his voice was.

"Master Revan is in the exercise room, Master Dustil. It is located at the end of the hall. Will there be anything else you require?"

"No, thanks." Dustil turned on his heel and headed towards the door. He wondered why JC-01 hadn't been alarmed at seeing the naked blade in his hand. He supposed Revan and Carth walked in and out with weapons in hands all the time.

He bared his teeth in a humorless grin. All the better for him to strike with surprise.

He entered the exercise room, a huge, cavernous space. Mats covered the floor, and a trapeze took up much of the room. Several benches lined the wall, some covered with weightlifting equipment.

Dustil saw Revan on the other side of the room, behind a force field. She was working out against ten spy-eyes that were blasting away as they zipped all around her.

Revan spun, danced, shifted from side to side, avoiding and deflecting blaster fire. He saw that she had blindfolded herself.

"Hello, Dustil!" she called. Dustil was almost startled out of his rage. Almost. She knew he was there!

Revan deflected several bolts back at the spy-eyes, destroying two of them. She threw her lightsabers at two more of the fast-moving droids. They swerved to avoid them, but they weren't fast enough. They exploded in a spray of sparks and flying debris.

Revan had not stopped moving all the while. A flying kick took care of one, and her hands shot out as she flew through the air to depress the buttons on two more, shutting them down.

She called her lightsabers back to her hands, easily deflecting fire from the remaining three. She flipped a somersault high into the air, cleaving one in half with a swipe of a lightsaber. Her leg whipped around and kicked the button on the second to last, and a punch deactivated the final one.

Revan dropped back to the floor lightly and attached her sabers to her belt. She removed the blindfold and used it to mop her brow as she walked through the force field she turned off with a flick of a finger. "Dustil, are you looking to spar?" she asked upon seeing the blade in his hand.

She froze, feeling the waves of anger radiating from Dustil. "Dustil?"

Dustil charged at Revan, a rictus of rage twisting his features into a mask.

Revan dodged out of the way and slid backwards, looking panicked. "Dustil! Please, calm down!" She ducked under a wild swing. She caught his wrist as the blade whistled past. "Dustil!"

Dustil wrenched his arm free and tried to cut her with the sword backhanded. She leaned away from the clumsy blow.

"Dustil, I'm not going to fight you. Please, let's sit down and talk about this!" Revan said, trying to calm him. She jumped back from his answer, a swing at her torso.

"I'm done talking!" Dustil snarled.

Revan caught a sword blow on her gauntlets and changed tactics. "Dustil, you said you'd give me a chance, remember? Are you going back on your word?" Her stomach lurched at the renewed hate she felt pouring off him.

Dustil thrust the sword violently at Revan's face. She ducked her head to avoid it. He growled at his inability to land a blow on her. He tried to shape his rage into a weapon and focus it on his target.

Revan retreated, gliding away and dodging all of his blows. "Dustil, anger won't help you. I know. It feels great at first, but it doesn't do anything but fill a void inside your heart. And when the anger is gone, you feel the hole even worse."

"Shut up! Shut up! You don't know anything!" Dustil screamed. He tried to cleave her in half, but she bent her body back to avoid it. He was starting to sweat and pant from his exertions, while Revan wasn't even breathing hard, even after her own workout.

All of his anger and hate seemed to meld together with his frustration. He drew instinctively on the Force and poured all of his anguish out on Revan.

A bolt of lightning burst from his hand at Revan, startling a scream from her. She threw herself back from his sword swing.

Dustil felt the exhilaration and power of using the Force to hurt her, but it had tired him, too. He couldn't muster up the energy to try it again. Not yet. He felt lightheaded with his success. He was about to take another swing at her when he felt a hand grab his shoulder roughly. He turned and swung without thinking.

"Dustil!" Revan shouted. Dustil saw the fear in her eyes now, the fear she had not shown, not even once, when he had attacked her. It reminded him of the look in his mother's face, when she had watched him being dragged away.

Revan grabbed the naked blade in her left hand, heedless of the pain as it cut into her fingers and palm. The edge of her right hand chopped down onto the sword, breaking it near the guard. The broken stub dropped from her bleeding fingers.

"Revan!" Carth cried as he started towards her. Revan held out a hand, stopping him. Dustil felt her use the Force to heal her wounds. He threw the broken sword onto the floor. It bounced with a metallic clang.

"Dustil..." Carth had not released his grip on his son's shoulder.

Dustil wrenched himself from his father's grasp and stood away from him. He trembled and gasped for air in great, shuddering inhalations. His hands were clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists. _I almost... I almost killed him, and he thinks nothing of it!_

Carth gave Revan a silent, questioning look. Revan shook her head and raised her hands, palm up, indicating her ignorance. He saw a look of realization cross her face. She held up a fist, closed for a moment, then extended all of her fingers suddenly, pantomiming an explosion.

Carth's eyes widened. _Telos?_ he mouthed at Revan. She nodded and shrugged. That was her guess.

Carth turned to his son and touched him gently on his shoulder. "Dustil... is this about...?"

Dustil couldn't speak, not yet, so he nodded.

Carth placed a hand on the small of Dustil's back and propelled him slowly towards a bench. Dustil did not resist, but slumped down onto the seat. He scrubbed his face with both hands. Carth sat down next to him.

Revan watched father and son with conflicting desires. She wanted to stay and help Carth with Dustil, but another part of her wanted to escape the painful talk that was likely in the offing. _No. I got through my revelation with Carth's help. I cannot, I will not abandon him now. I just hope I don't make this worse._

She rubbed her bloody hand on the leg of her trousers absentmindedly, as she walked on silent feet towards them. She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Carth. He gave her a helpless look. She patted his knee encouragingly and flicked a hand at Dustil that said, _Go on, get on with it_.

"Dustil... it might help if you talked to me," Carth said quietly. He put a hand gingerly on Dustil's shoulder. Dustil did not shrug it off this time.

"I... I had a dream. I... was remembering what happened when... Telos was bombed," Dustil said in a raw voice. He felt his father's hand tighten.

Dustil glared at Revan, hate flashing in his eyes. "You asked me for forgiveness, and, and, you had no right! No right to ask and no right to have it!"

Revan's face betrayed nothing, but Carth saw her twitch, very slightly, as if Dustil's words were darts that had struck home.

"I never asked for forgiveness. Only a chance," Revan replied calmly.

Carth's eyes darted at Revan, then at Dustil. His heart sank. The ease between the two turned out to be just the calm before the storm. _Damn._

"How could you, _you_, the former Dark Lord of the Sith, ask for forgiveness, or even a chance? Why should I give it?" Dustil spat.

"And what was Selene to you?" Revan snapped. She sucked in her breath at what she had just blurted, wishing she could take back the words as easily. She slapped herself mentally. _Idiot. And you call yourself a diplomat?_

Dustil paled. "What did you say?"

Revan opened her mouth to speak, but closed it.

Dustil grit his teeth, the anger flaring in his eyes. "Well? If you've got something to say, say it! Especially if it's about Selene!" Carth shot him a warning look, which he ignored.

Revan pursed her lips thoughtfully. "It's pure speculation. I have not the proof to back up anything I say."

Dustil wrestled with his anger. "Tell me anyway," he said, a little more calmly.

Revan looked steadily into Dustil's eyes. "You ask how I can ask forgiveness when I have been the Dark Lord. But have you not seen your own path? How many steps did you take, in your own turn? If events had not played out as they had... in time, you would have served me gladly, of your own free will. Served the one who destroyed Telos."

Carth gave Revan a silent look, _Where are you going with this?_ Revan squeezed the hand she had on his knee reassuringly.

Dustil looked away. The contradiction had not been lost upon him. "This... this isn't about me. This is about you--"

"But it is. Did you ever give thought to the possibility that Selene... might not have been all she seemed?" Revan asked carefully.

Dustil clenched his jaw. "I... no. Yes. I did... think that, after..." His face twisted. He put a fist to his forehead, as if trying to rub away some pain from his mind.

Carth gripped his son's shoulder. "I'm... sorry, son." His heart went out to Dustil.

Revan looked sadly at Dustil. "I am sorry for it, too. The Sith used her as horribly as they used you. I would not have opened this wound, if you had not insisted."

Dustil rubbed his eyes. "I asked for it, yeah. But that wasn't all you were going to say, was it?"

"Someone, or some people, high in the Sith hierarchy... must have had plans for you. Why else would they capture you, but not put you in some labor camp or sell you as a slave? They are not known for showing kindness to prisoners." Revan clasped her hands together under her chin. "At best you become valuable chattel. At worst... well, I'm sure we can all imagine the worst without my having to enumerate them."

Carth looked horrified. "You think they had such deeply-laid plans? But, but why?"

"Do you really have to ask that? You were a decorated hero in the Mandalorian Wars. Saul Karath, at least, knew of your abilities, of your loyalty to the Republic. Once this war started, you would have been on the fast track for command. War always brings men and women through the ranks quickly," Revan said, looking impassively at Carth.

"Surely I couldn't have been that important! They couldn't have known I'd be in high command! I was just a commander!" Carth cried. He had clenched his fists at the mention of Karath's name.

"They surely thought so, otherwise they wouldn't have taken the time and attention to capture Dustil and wean him and his loyalty away from you and the Republic." Revan looked at Dustil.

Dustil nodded his head, reluctantly. "It... fits. I was... treated well. I met Selene then. She said she had been captured on Telos, too. She had the right accent and, and everything. I was... so glad to see someone else from home..." He realized as he spoke that any experienced Sith agent could have constructed a convincing Telosian persona.

"And then she suggested to you, so very conveniently, that perhaps joining the Sith Academy would be a good idea." Revan's look seemed to imply that Selene had had more than his trust.

"But... she loved me! I know she did! I might not be as experienced with the Force as you are, but I, I know when someone's lying and she was telling me the truth!" Dustil cried. He stifled, with difficulty, the sobs that were threatening to escape from his chest.

Revan looked tired. "And the Sith murdered her for it. I... think that it was unforseen on her part. And the Sith's. She had outlived her usefulness."

Dustil nodded heavily. He slouched, hunching in on himself. Carth kept his hand on Dustil's shoulder, a helpless expression on his face. He wished he could take away his son's pain, and see him smile again. But this was a lesson only Dustil could learn on his own.

Revan continued, grimly. "If we had not found you, the Sith would, in one fell swoop, have gained a loyal, Force Sensitive ally from what would have been an enemy, another weapon in their arsenal. And strike a grievous blow against one of the best soldiers in service to the Republic, using his own son.

"I wonder how many in the Sith leadership got a chuckle out of that supreme irony, playing such a horrific joke. And cruel, by the Force, something cruel. Both of you... used according to a vile, vile humor..." Revan's face was pale.

Dustil and Carth looked at each other, identical expressions of horror on their faces.

Revan turned to Carth. "You told me once you've always been the captain of your own ship. But I think it wouldn't have taken long for you to command your own task force or fleet in a flagship of your own. How devastating would it have been, to find that you faced no ordinary Sith in battle, but your own son across the field?"

"I would've... I would've been totally useless." Carth's face was totally drained of blood. Dustil stared aside at his father. "I... probably wouldn't have cared if my command was destroyed. And me, with it."

Revan looked sick. "Psychological warfare... on a vastly more personal scale."

Silence fell oppressively.

"Wouldn't you have been one of the ones who laughed?" Dustil asked suddenly. His eyes glinted dangerously.

Revan looked at Dustil, aware that she was treading on treacherous ground. She summoned all of the wits and persuasion at her command. _A meager enough arsenal. I hope it is enough._ "I don't know. I never will, now. From what I have read in the news archives about... myself, I would say... not.

"I was the commander of the entire Sith fleet, with my eye always on the conquest of the Republic. Tactics, strategy, plans for taking world after world, would have occupied my mind. I... think that I would not have known of this. The larger picture would have held all my attention, not... the small details of the lives I destroyed."

"So we were just details, huh? Just nothing, beneath the notice of the Dark Lord of the Sith?" Dustil spat venomously.

Carth's hand tightened on Dustil's arm. "Son..."

Dustil pulled violently away from his father. _I should've killed her when I had the chance._ He felt so confused and angry; at what or who, he didn't know. Himself, Revan, Carth, the Sith... His heart ached so badly. He stood and nearly ran to the door. "I, I need some air."

"Dustil... Dustil!" Carth jumped to his feet to follow, but Revan's hand on his leg stopped him. He stared down at her.

Revan pulled Carth down to sit on the floor beside her, holding his hands in hers. "Let him go. This has been a pretty heavy conversation. He needs to think about it without either of us hovering over him." She tilted her head, her eyes unfocussing slightly. "He's going up to the roof."

"It was all pretty heavy for me, too. You... don't pull any punches." Carth took out a hand from hers and rubbed his face. The color was slowly returning to his cheeks.

"It's not something we can edge around, we can only face it squarely. I've... been thinking about it, ever since you found Dustil on Korriban, though I didn't know I was Darth Revan, then. It's... yet another sin I have committed against you," Revan said sadly.

Carth brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "No, it's not. You weren't responsible for his brainwashing. You didn't even know, then or later. And... you're the one who stopped that dark future from happening."

"I'm the one who made it possible for him to be brainwashed in the first place."

"Stop whipping yourself for things you can't change."

"Makes two of us, hey?"

"Ouch. But it's true, though." Carth held Revan's hands in a tight grip.

Revan stared at Carth with amazement and a touch of wonder on her face. "I will say it again. You are a wonder to me, Carth, that you could forgive all my many sins against you. I think, sometimes, that if I had had someone like you by my side, I would never have fallen."

Carth gathered Revan into his arms. "And I would never have met you."

"A lot of things... would never have happened," Revan said. She rested her head on his chest and listened to his steady heartbeat.

Carth knew she was speaking of Telos, his wife and Dustil. "Who knew what the future held? Who's to say someone else wouldn't have found the Star Forge, and started that whole chain of events?"

Revan sighed, acknowledging the possibility. "I have your forgiveness, though it still seems nothing less than a miracle. But will I ever have Dustil's? I wonder if I haven't just blown the chance he gave me." Revan burrowed into Carth's jacket, as if trying to shelter there from the world.

Carth leaned his cheek on top of Revan's head. "We're in the same starship there, beautiful. I'm... not sure he's forgiven me, either. And it has nothing to do with what you did as Darth Revan. I... I think I lost him when I was in the Mandalorian Wars. And I didn't even know it. I'm... really scared. Scared that I'll lose him again. This time for good."

"You know that you have my full support, in all ways, in all things. I'll help you, best I can." Revan hugged Carth tightly. "I called in reinforcements."

"Reinforcements?"

"Jolee and Juhani are up on the roof. I had JC-01 take breakfast up to them."

"You set up an ambush? Did you forsee this?" Carth didn't know whether to be amused or aghast at her calculation.

"'All's fair in love and war.' I couldn't predict that he'd run up to the roof, right? Well, maybe I could. I noticed that he likes to brood there. You and I... we're too close to him, to all this, for him to listen to us with an unbiased ear."

Carth sighed. "I... guess you're right. I'll just have to leave him in Jolee and Juhani's capable hands. Much as I hate having to do that."

He leaned back and took her hands again, noticing her left was slightly sticky. He turned it palm up, and looked at the dried blood and new scars there. He pressed a kiss into it. "Thanks for the save. It must've hurt."

Revan curled her hand and brushed the fingertips on his face. "Eh, I'm fine. Being skewered's no fun, believe you me. Dustil has enough problems without the guilt of having committed accidental patricide."

Carth looked at her, surprised. "And here I thought you had just saved me."

Revan looked at Carth, her eyes deathly serious. "Saving you is the same as saving myself. The offer I made to you after the _Leviathan_ still holds, Carth. My life is yours, to do with as you wish. Live or die. And wash away my sins for me, or not, as you will. Whenever, wherever, it is your right. It's a poor enough gift, but it's a gift all the same."

Carth caught his breath. "It's... it's not a gift I want. Or need. I told you... you're the reason I don't want any more revenge." He looked away. "I have to confess something. I... I wouldn't have been able to redeem the promise I made to you on the _Ebon Hawk_, after, after the _Leviathan_. I... could never hurt you. No matter what you did. I'm... glad you were strong enough, for both of us."

A cool touch on his cheek made him look up. "I... see," Revan said softly. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I placed that burden on you. Sorry... for all the things I said, that day. Sorry..."

Carth leaned his forehead against hers. "You've got nothing to be sorry about. I... knew what you were trying to do. You were just doing what you needed to, to go on." Her hand touched his face again, a butterfly-light caress.

Revan rested her forehead against Carth's. "You're the one who keeps me going on, Carth. The only thing keeping me going in this life."

They sat on the floor, supporting and leaning on each other, until a sound at the door made them turn. JC-01 sat in the doorway. "Master Revan, there is an urgent call for you from the Jedi Temple."

Revan sighed and sat up, away from Carth. "I guess that must be the summons from the High Council, just like Jolee predicted."

Carth stood and pulled Revan to her feet. "I could use something to take my mind off things right now. I'll drive you there."

They walked back to their suite, hand-in-hand, in silence, both of them preoccupied with their thoughts.

Revan pressed the receive key on the computer. The blinking _Urgent Message_ icon was replaced with Master Vandar's face. "Good morning, Master Vandar." Carth waited, out of range of the viewer pickup.

"Good morning, Padawan. It should come as no surprise that this is a summons for you to come to an audience at the Temple," Master Vandar said, his protuberant large eyes blinking at her.

"No, it's not a surprise, Master. When shall I come?" Revan asked.

"As soon as you can. And please bring Commander Onasi to the audience, if he is willing," Master Vandar replied. Revan saw that Carth was startled by the invitation.

"Um, very well. We shall leave immediately," Revan said. Master Vandar nodded, and cut the com.

Revan turned to Carth. "How very interesting. I wonder why he wants you to come, too."

Carth scratched the back of his head. "We'll find out when we get there, I guess."

Revan's gaze sharpened. "I wonder if it has to do with or involve the Fleet..." She smirked. "Pretty unusual for someone who isn't even a Jedi."

Carth's lips twitched at this echoing of the words he had said to her when they had first landed on Dantooine. "You've got me there, beautiful."

"Still, you're right. I'll go wash up and change."

They left for the Temple in their speeder, questions and speculation filling their heads.


	14. Issues

**Chapter 14: Issues**

Dustil stomped out of the doorway to the roof, his head spinning and pounding with equal parts of rage and confusion. He felt drawn to the peace of the garden, more so than usual. He kicked at the blameless grass.

"If you're going to be throwing a tantrum, kid, try not to flatten the flowers. They're so pretty after a good rain," an age-roughened voice said from under a tree.

Dustil wheeled around at the voice. He peered and a brown shape resolved itself into an old man in Jedi robes. A Cathar, also in Jedi robes, sat beside him. She nodded politely at Dustil.

Dustil clenched his fists. _This place is practically crawling with Jedi!_ He wrestled again with his anger. He shouldn't offend these two. They had nothing to do with Revan or Carth. That was an old teaching from the Academy: _Test, but do not offend those more powerful than you, unless you are sure of victory over them through more subtle means._ He could see the power in these two, even with his inexperienced eyes.

"Sorry, I didn't know anyone else was here. I'll be going," Dustil grated out. He turned.

"Garden's big enough for all of us, kid. Why don't you sit down and enjoy the sunshine?" the old Jedi said persuasively.

Dustil paused. The two Jedi looked at him expectantly. He hadn't felt the old man use the Force to back up his words, but he felt suddenly drained and tired. He flopped onto the ground a small distance from the two.

They sat silently, no one speaking as they listened to the sounds of the birds and the city.

The Cathar stirred. "I do not believe we have been introduced. My name is Juhani, and this is Jolee Bindo." She gestured at the old man. "We accompanied Revan and Carth on the quest for the Star Forge."

"I'm Dustil." He did not offer anything more, or his hand in greeting. If these two knew his father, they knew who he was.

"Nice to meet you, Dustil," Jolee said, unfazed by the lack of warmth. "Mind telling an old man what chased you up here with your pants on fire?"

Dustil looked away, jaw working.

"It is not good to hold all of your emotions and anger inside yourself. It will fester and grow, until it fills your entire world. And then it will burst forth when you least expect it, hurting the ones you love," Juhani said.

Dustil noticed that she spoke with great certainty. As if she were speaking from experience. He looked at the Cathar in surprise. Had they felt something, when he had used the Force to throw lightning at Revan? "I don't have any loved ones. Not anymore," he said, in a surly tone.

"Ah. That is a pity. But sometimes we do not know we have loved ones, until they are gone. And by then, it is too late," Juhani mused, sadly.

"Last time I looked, Carth's alive and well," Jolee said after a little silence.

Dustil looked down at his hands, and said nothing.

"'s about Revan, ain't it?" Jolee asked.

Dustil glanced at the old man. It was damned annoying, the way the Jedi seemed to be able to read his mind.

"Don't need to look at me like that, it doesn't take Jedi senses to know," Jolee said amiably.

"Nothing will bring back the dead. I thought the same way as you, when Taris was destroyed by Malak, when he tried to find Bastila. I, too, was angry, and I vented my anger upon Revan, though neither of us knew who she really was, at the time. And yet she did not grow angry, and she did not turn away. Instead, she lead me through my pain to acceptance." Juhani's eyes grew distant.

Dustil hunched. He didn't know how Revan's friends could look upon her and see something good when she had done such unconscionable things.

"Yanno, here I thought you'd be the one who'd understand her best," Jolee said to the air.

Dustil whipped his head around to stare at Jolee. "_What_? Me? When, when she'd done all those things to _Telos_?"

Jolee looked at him shrewdly. "I'm wondering if you aren't trying to project your own shame and guilt onto her, kid. Yeah, she's done horrible things, blah blah blah, killed millions, etcetera, etcetera. So who hasn't done horrible things? I've done horrible things, so has Juhani." His face hardened. "And so have you. And you did it by choice."

Dustil glared at the old man. "And she didn't?"

Jolee shook his head. "Nope. She's got absolutely no memory of it. She told you about her mind wipe, no?"

Dustil nodded reluctantly.

Jolee leaned towards Dustil. "Listen to me, kid. She's paying every day. You have no idea how much grief and remorse and guilt she carries, and by the Force I hope you never do."

"My name's Dustil, old man."

"I'll keep calling you 'kid' until you stop acting like one," Jolee retorted irritably.

"I don't have to sit here and take this." Dustil made to leave, but found that he couldn't rise to his feet. "Hey!"

"You'll leave when I'm good and finished talking my talk, dammit!" Jolee grumbled. "Where was I? Oh, yeah. Revan's not the same person, not anymore. She's got a lot of the qualities of the Revan before she fell, yeah, but she's a little more wiser, I think."

Dustil gritted his teeth. "She still did all those things."

Jolee shrugged. "And? And killing her will do what, exactly? Will it bring back even one person? How much can she pay? And pay, and pay, and pay? How much should _you_ pay?"

Juhani turned her golden eyes upon Dustil. "You, too, betrayed the Republic and your mother and father by joining with the very ones who destroyed your homeworld. You, too, must have killed innocents in your bid for power at the Academy. And you dare to sit here in judgment?" Her eyes gleamed coldly.

Dustil flinched.

"She may have been the one who damned you in the first place, kid, but you kept walking down that path, all by yourself. Be glad she saved you, and that you didn't need a mind wipe like she did." Jolee crossed his arms on his chest.

Dustil turned away. He knew, in his heart of hearts, that what they said was true. But it was hard to let go of the anger he had nursed and held for so long.

Jolee shook his head. "You need to control that anger of yours, kid. You've gotten used to it, like a bad habit. You're more likely to get angry than happy."

Dustil glowered at nothing in particular. "I've got a lot to be angry about."

Jolee humphed. "And you've got a lot more to be happy about, too. Not many people are as fortunate as you are. Take your gift of life and tell it to your fellow students who lie in graves right now. If you dare."

"I don't know if I can let my anger go," Dustil said in a small voice.

"Yuthura Ban did. That Algwinn kid did. Your father did. You saying you can't do as well?" Jolee said tauntingly. "Hah, maybe you aren't made of the same stuff as they are."

Dustil's eyes glinted. "Are you offering to teach me, old man?"

Jolee grinned. "Have you got the right stuff, _kid_?"

Juhani hid a smile. She could almost smell the testosterone in the air.

Dustil raised his chin. "What do I have to do?"

Jolee looked at the young man, consideringly. "Nothing too hard. Learn to live with Revan and Carth."

Dustil looked at Jolee in disbelief. "That's it?" he asked skeptically.

"'That's it?', he says," Jolee scoffed. "Think it's beneath you, huh?"

"No, I didn't say that. Sounds too easy, though." Dustil looked at Jolee, trying to find the catch.

"Hah! Easy! As if you didn't come running up here a while ago because you couldn't control yourself," Jolee dismissed Dustil with a wave of his hand.

Dustil winced, acknowledging the hit.

"No task is beneath a Jedi, kid, so you can just knock those silly airs out of your head right now. Why, even Revan had to do a task for me before I'd help her," Jolee smiled fondly at the memory.

Dustil looked curiously at the old man. "Doing what?"

"Get rid of some poachers that had infested my garden on Kashyyyk."

"Poachers?"

"Uh-huh. And she had to do it without killing them. And she did quite well, too, though I'd never tell her that." Jolee leaned conspiratorially towards Dustil. "Listen to me, kid. You can't hurt her like you've been doing. You want to know how to really hurt her?"

Dustil looked askance at Jolee, startled by the change of subject. He smelled a trap, but he couldn't help asking. "How?"

"Take away her crutch, and she'll shatter," Jolee said in a low voice.

"Crutch?"

"Your father. She's mad, yanno."

"Huh?"

Jolee rolled his eyes in exasperation. "What part of 'stark, raving mad' don't you understand, kid? She's only as sane as she is because she's got Carth. He's the only thing keeping her alive, kid. Take him away, and she's got nothing, absolutely nothing left.

"She's always been a little fey, yanno. Comes of the old farts on the Council giving her the memories of a smuggler. Always dancing on the edge of the law, danger and the illegal." Jolee smiled reminiscently. His eyes sharpened. "When she found out about her real past, boy, it all came crashing down. She was ready to slit her throat, let me tell you.

"Carth's the only one who stopped her. Kept her going until the Star Forge and beyond. Well? Can you do it, kid? You were all set to kill him on Korriban. Can you still do it?"

Dustil shook his head, shaken. "I... I almost did it today. By accident. But... but she grabbed my sword and broke it with her bare hands..."

"See? She'd do anything for him. Anything, up to and including dying." Jolee shook his head, at Revan's less-than-stable mind or his attempt to kill Revan, Dustil didn't know. Maybe it was both.

Dustil took into a long, shuddering breath. His world turned upside down, and now it clicked into a strange new configuration.

"Come on, Juhani. Looks like the kid's got a lot to think about. And we need to get back to the Temple, for you-know-what." Jolee climbed creakily to his feet. Juhani stood much more gracefully.

The two Jedi left, leaving Dustil to his many thoughts in the garden.


	15. Missions

**Chapter 15: Missions**

Master Vandar was the only one waiting to greet Revan and Carth in the Council Chamber. They were all dwarfed in the vast, echoing room. Revan raised an eyebrow at the arrangements, or rather, the lack thereof.

Master Vandar caught her look. "The High Council has adjourned for today and for the forseeable future. There are still many things to do, and too few hands to do them, so most of the Masters have been dispatched to the hotspots. Only those currently teaching padawans here remain, though that will likely change once they are all fully trained," he said as he led them to a small conference room.

Revan looked around the room, which was as spartan as all rooms in the Jedi Temple were. The table contained a holo projector, and chairs had been placed all around it at datalink consoles built into its surface.

A woman in Republic Fleet uniform, wearing the insignia of a captain in the Office of Fleet Intelligence, rose to her feet at their entrance. She held out her hand to Revan.

"Captain Marya Sennelos, OFI, at your service, Lady Jedi," she said, taking Revan's hand in a firm clasp. She exchanged grave salutes with Carth. "Commander."

Revan frowned a little in thought, as she tried to place the captain's face and name. Her face cleared as she remembered. "Ah! I remember you now!" Captain Sennelos blinked at her. "You're the one who wrote that fascinating paper on Sith encryption and decryption techniques. I found it quite helpful in my work."

Captain Sennelos smiled. "Ah, yes, _that_ work. I've seen a bit of it. You do pretty interesting stuff yourself, Lady Jedi, given your current, ah, vocation."

Carth looked at Revan in surprise. He hadn't known she was doing anything for the Fleet. Revan gave him a _I'll tell you about it later_ look.

"Even Jedi have hobbies. So what brings a spook out from the bowels of OFI into the broad day?" Revan asked.

Captain Sennelos grinned at Revan's description of her profession. "A briefing, of sorts, Lady Jedi," she replied.

"Please, call me Revan. People call me Lady and I have to stop myself from turning around to see who they're talking to." Revan smiled.

Master Vandar coughed politely and waved his hands at the chairs, waiting for them all to be seated before speaking. "Your reports of the attacks on you and young Dustil have been quite disturbing, Padawan. We sent our own interrogators, and so has Republic Intelligence and OFI, to help the police in questioning the ones you captured. And what we found is both interesting and strange, at the same time." He waved at Captain Sennelos to continue.

"Anything the Sith do is of great interest to the Fleet, and especially to us at OFI, Revan. And these attacks are a break in their usual pattern. They don't usually go after individuals, preferring to save their resources instead to attack strategic military and civilian targets. Although given your role in the destruction of the Star Forge, we should, perhaps, not be surprised." Captain Sennelos steepled her fingers and looked at Revan over them.

Carth frowned. "Don't the Sith have better things to do than to try and kill us? You'd think whoever filled in the power vacuum Malak left would try to consolidate their power, and by extension, the Sith fleet. They should have their hands too full to think about us."

Revan rubbed her chin. "It would depend on the Dark Jedi. They may see us as a potential threat. It could be personal. It could be both or it could be for any number of reasons. We need more data."

"Why do you say it is a Dark Jedi who is sending these assassins?" Master Vandar asked.

"Only a Dark Jedi would have had the authority and power to command those two Dark Jedi I saw the other night, Master," Revan replied. Master Vandar nodded thoughtfully.

"Interesting thought, Revan. It's one that has occurred to those of us in OFI who are investigating this matter. Well, I'm here to provide you with some data. Here's what we've learned so far. All of the Sith in those two attacks originate from a Republic-turned-Sith, Interdictor-class ship called the _Thanatos_." Captain Sennelos looked inquiringly at Carth, who shrugged.

"Can't say I recognize the name, Captain. Could be they changed it, when it came under new management. It doesn't sound like a name the Fleet would give one of its ships," Carth said.

Revan frowned. "Did you find out anything else?"

Captain Sennelos and Master Vandar shook their heads, ruefully. "I'm afraid not, Revan; at least, not from the Sith themselves. They have been mind blocked. The only reason we found out about the name of the ship was because someone had been sloppy outfitting them. The name of the ship was revealed on labels of some of the equipment they had." Captain Sennelos sniffed. The oversight was probably an offense to her professional instincts.

"Can you be sure that they weren't planted?" Revan asked.

"A possibility we have discussed, but it's the only lead we have," Captain Sennelos replied.

"We have been trying to dissolve or maneuver around the mind blocks, but it is taking precious time. Whoever created them was quite proficient at it, to judge by the difficulty in lifting them from their minds, and how they have not affected the assassins' abilities," Master Vandar added.

"Do you know anything about the _Thanatos_, then?" Carth asked.

Captain Sennelos nodded. "We've been able to make some headway in that regard, Commander. We've had reports of sightings of this ship on the very fringes of the Outer Rim. There have been quite a few raids on planets there, quick hit-and-run attacks, all of them following the same plan.

"First they hit the communication centers, so that they cannot call for help, then they send ground troops to make raids in the cities and agricultural areas, for medical and food supplies. Banks are shaken down for all of the credits they have.

"The planets they target have no standing fleet or army, only militia or police. Neither of which can resist attacks of this nature. They arrive and leave in only one day, and none of our ships or task forces have been able to catch them. We've only been able to help the planets rebuild," Captain Sennelos looked grim as she rattled off the information from her datapad.

Carth looked pained. Captain Sennelos caught his expression.

"They haven't actively killed any civilians who don't get in their way, or bombarded any planets into rubble. Very unlike their usual modus operandi, but then they don't really have time to stay and slaughter the entire population and still elude pursuit," Captain Sennelos tried to sound reassuring. She pressed the holo controls on her console.

A map of the Outer Rim showed up, with some systems colored in red. A large green sphere encapsulated the crimson-stained areas.

"The green area is where all of the raids have been concentrated," Captain Sennelos said.

Revan stared thoughtfully at the map. "And why are you telling us all this, Captain? This isn't information we are usually privy to, for all that I am a Jedi and Carth is a Fleet officer."

Captain Sennelos pursed her lips. "The Fleet has learned to turn to the Jedi Order for help and insight when it comes to Dark Jedi. 'Send a thief to catch a thief'. And you have a unique... perspective, that both the Jedi Order and OFI would like you to share."

Revan leaned back in her chair and stared thoughtfully at the OFI captain, who returned her stare impassively. "I see. And does the Fleet trust me so much?" she asked. Challenge gleamed in her eyes.

Captain Sennelos put a finger to her lips. "The Fleet gives its absolute trust to Commander Onasi," she said slowly.

Carth bristled at what the captain was implying. Only Revan's hand on his thigh stopped him from saying something angry in her defense.

Revan laughed and touched a finger to her heart, a fencer's sign of a touch. "You're wasted in Intelligence, Captain. Do the diplomatic corps know what a fine agent they lost to OFI?"

Captain Sennelos grinned, but said nothing.

"So Carth is my watchdog? Well, og--watching me is a duty he should be quite familiar with." Revan pressed her lips together primly, but her eyes danced at Carth, who coughed a laugh.

Captain Sennelos' lips twitched at this byplay.

Revan waited for the captain to say more, but shrugged when nothing further was forthcoming. "Can you tell me where the _Thanatos_ was stationed, prior to the end of the Star Forge?"

Captain Sennelos looked a little surprised at the question, but punched up the information on her pad. "I have a report dated just a month before the Star Forge was destroyed. She was last seen fighting in the front lines, in some of the toughest battles of the war."

"Do you have any more reports that go back further? Fighting on the front lines for how long?" Revan tapped her fingers on the table.

"Nearly half a year." Captain Sennelos looked expectantly at Revan.

"Hmm." Revan's eyes unfocussed. Carth put a finger to his lips when he saw the captain about to speak after a few minutes of silence passed.

"Treason. Mutiny. Assassins. Coup. Supply lines..." Revan muttered as she stared into the middle distance. Her fingers tapped out a complicated cadence.

In Revan's head, she saw the shining, sleek starships of the Sith fleet, tiny explosions rupturing their hulls as they came under Republic Fleet laser cannon fire. They turned and fled, leaving their starfighters and more damaged sister ships behind to be slaughtered or captured.

The surviving Sith ships fled, fighting a running retreat as they escaped the more densely-populated Core Worlds to the Outer Rim, where they found safety in empty systems, but no resources and supplies.

"How simply brilliant, ruthless and completely boneheaded at the same time..." Revan's lips parted as she looked at her imagined scenario in appalled appreciation.

"Uh, could you enlighten the rest of us mere mortals, Revan?" Carth asked gently, carefully so as not to disturb her train of thought.

"Oh, um... right." Revan blinked at Carth. "I was just thinking that Dark Jedi have no business commanding a task force or a fleet."

"They don't exactly have expertise in that area, no." Carth raised his eyebrows questioningly at her.

"Then what happened to the CO of the _Thanatos_? If they survived the hard fighting on the front lines for so long, the CO couldn't have been an incompetent. And since Dark Jedi were sent to assassinate me, no non-Jedi, however brilliant, would've dared to order them..." Revan touched each of the fingers on her hand to her thumb, a gesture that betrayed her deep thought.

Captain Sennelos looked sharply at Revan. "You think the Dark Jedi staged a coup on the _Thanatos_?"

Revan's lips twisted. "A bloody coup, most likely. My theory is that he killed the commanding officer on the bridge, along with all of his loyal subordinates. And probably made a ruthless purge of the ranks of anyone who were even remotely loyal to the CO."

"Killing the captain of the ship in the middle of a running retreat is incredibly Sithlike and incredibly stupid, at the same time," Carth mused.

Revan nodded. "What happens to the army who lost the war? They lost their rallying point, supply lines, resources and leader, all in one fell swoop, when the Fleet destroyed the Star Forge. They also lost their main refit center. If the _Thanatos_ has been fighting in the front lines for half a year, she must be long overdue for an overhaul, yes?"

Captain Sennelos and Carth nodded. "Yes. A Fleet ship would've been sitting in a naval yard by then, if it had fought for that long," Captain Sennelos agreed.

"And those ships have huge crews, numbering in the hundreds, no matter how much the Sith could have tried to automate things." Revan looked at Carth for confirmation.

Carth nodded. "Interdictor-class ships have crew complements that number in the thousands, although with all the droids the Star Forge used to make, I suppose they could've shrunk that number down to hundreds."

"So what you have is a ship that may be slowly falling to pieces, with no way of getting essential parts and supplies," Revan said slowly.

"It may be a little too optimistic for you to say it's falling to pieces," Captain Sennelos said dubiously.

"Is it? And when do critical systems start to break down after six months of hard fighting on campaign? Especially when there's no one to find and fix any problems?" Revan asked.

"What do you mean? The ship still has its crew and troops, or the _Thanatos_ wouldn't have been able to make those raids," Carth protested.

Revan leaned her elbows on the table. "I wonder, though. Morale must be at an all-time low, and all of the mercenaries the Sith hired probably haven't been paid yet. And they won't be paid in the forseeable future. They lost the war and are running a retreat. If they were an army of ground troops, bits and pieces of it would have deserted by now. The entire Sith fleet must be leaking soldiers in a steady stream. Or it would, if they weren't stuck in the middle of space.

"I wonder just how many assassins were actually sent after us. I have a feeling some of them may have disappeared in the middle of the trip. They can't have much love or loyalty for the Dark Jedi who now commands them. That's one of the drawbacks to using fear as a prod. The ones who stay must be too fearful of the consequences of a mutiny. Or too fanatical or optimistic.

"Perhaps that's why the Dark Jedi killed the CO. He may have had no choice but to kill him before the CO could rally enough support for a mutiny. And the Dark Jedi not only gets rid of potential mutineers by sending them to assassinate us, he also saves on having to feed them from his own limited supplies. I fear it is an economy that will come back to bite him."

Carth rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It would explain the raggedness of the Sith attacks. They don't fight like a cohesive unit because they've never fought as one, if you're right and the Dark Jedi pulled them from different units because they were loyal to the CO and not because they fight well."

"I suspect the _Thanatos_ may have been losing personnel to these raids, and not just because of fighting with the militias or police of the planets they've hit. The ground troops could simply not return to their transports when they're called," Revan speculated.

Master Vandar had not spoken all this time, but now he piped up. "The Jedi Order wishes to help the Fleet in any way we can, Padawan. We would like to send you to the Outer Rim and investigate these attacks. This mission would serve several purposes: help find the _Thanatos_ and stop these raids, stop these assassins and help with the negotiations between the Republic and the Rakata."

Revan raised her eyebrows, surprised. "The Rakata? They wish to join the Republic?"

Master Vandar nodded. "The Elder Tribe approached us during the victory celebrations. We have been in negotiations for some time now, since the Star Forge was destroyed. While they speak Basic quite well, they are uncomfortable around so many aliens. An understandable reaction, when they have been confined to one planet for millenia. They specifically requested you to be their liason."

Revan looked stunned. "I'm glad they have such a high opinion of me. I did betray them the first time I met them."

Master Vandar smiled. "You evidently made a good enough impression the second time to overcome their fears and doubts. The diplomatic team has already been assembled, and are now en route to the task force being assembled in the Outer Rim."

"A show of force, Master?" Revan asked with a disapproving frown. "The Rakata will likely not appreciate such a display."

Master Vandar shook his head. "The task force will continue to patrol the Outer Rim, while the ship with the diplomatic team will be escorted by a heavy cruiser." He slipped a data case to Revan. "This contains all of the negotiations and treaty notes. You expressed an interest in diplomatic missions, so this will be a good first start."

Revan accepted the case. "Does this mean...?" Her eyes darted to Carth, then back to Master Vandar.

Master Vandar nodded. "What did you expect us to do, Padawan? We are Jedi, not Sith, to force you to conform to our rules and teachings. There has been precedent, after all."

Revan saw Carth relax. She felt her own muscles relax, too. She hadn't even noticed the tension. Captain Sennelos was watching them all with a look of bafflement.

"I see, Master Vandar. Thank you." Revan bowed her head to the diminutive Master. Master Vandar shook his head and waved her thanks away. She waved the case in her hand. "When do we start?"

Captain Sennelos answered. "The task force won't be ready for another three months. We've been able to assemble it so quickly only because the ships were already in that sector."

Master Vandar nodded. "It will be at least three months before your presence is required at the negotiation table. Use your time in studying the notes I just gave you. The diplomatic team will be using the time to learn the Rakatan language, anyway."

Captain Sennelos leaned forward. "We in OFI could also use your help in tapping our human, or alien, intelligence sources. You could travel around the Rim with impunity, and speak with them. It's possible some of our agents there may have caught a whiff of the _Thanatos'_ plans. "

Carth raised an eyebrow and looked at the captain skeptically. "Aren't we a little high profile now to go on information-gathering reconnaissance missions? I'm guessing none of these agents are the kind we'd meet at receptions over cucumber sandwiches and champagne."

Captain Sennelos smiled. "Quite the opposite, Commander. But I understand Revan is quite adept at disguise."

Revan grinned. "You flatter me, Captain." She sobered. "What about the press? Carth's right in that we've been constantly in the limelight since the Star Forge was destroyed."

Captain Sennelos waved her worry away. "OFI can provide a suitable cover for you and Commander Onasi, and for whoever else you wish to have accompany you. Registry records and codes can also be provided for your ride, which I'm assuming will be the _Ebon Hawk_."

Revan nodded. "You guess correctly. But won't the press just follow the _Hawk_? It's not like it's a secret where we parked it."

"The diplomatic mission will not be secret, only the reconnaissance mission. The _Ebon Hawk_ will make a random series of hyperspace jumps worthy of the Commander's skill, leading any reporters on a merry chase. Meanwhile, OFI will then have a ship of the exact same make as the _Ebon Hawk_ show up on the Outer Rim at a designated rendezvous point, and lead the media away from you," Captain Sennelos explained.

"I see you've thought of everything, Captain." Revan smiled. Carth could already see the plans spinning in her eyes.

"This information-gathering mission is secondary to your liason duties and the investigation of the raids. You may accept, or not, as you wish," Master Vandar added.

Revan looked at Carth inquiringly. He shrugged and opened his hand, passing the decision to her. She turned to Captain Sennelos. "Very well, Captain. We accept."

Captain Sennelos nodded. "Excellent." She slipped another data case to Revan. "This contains contact information and passwords for our agents. Any reports you may make can be given to our man on the diplomatic team, when you join up with the task force. An account has already been opened for you, for you to draw on for the necessary, ah, palm greasing."

"Do you have any questions, Padawan?" Master Vandar asked.

Revan shook her head. "Not at this time, Master. I may have some later, when I've studied these documents."

Master Vandar nodded and stood. "Very well. If you would all follow me." He turned to the door.

Revan looked a question at the captain, who shrugged. Revan followed Master Vandar, Carth and Captain Sennelos trailing behind her.

Master Vandar led them back to the Council Chamber, where Revan could see Master Vrook, Jolee and Juhani waiting. Her eyebrows flew up in surprise.

Jolee grinned and Juhani smiled.

Master Vandar turned to Master Vrook. "Master Vrook, I wish to sponsor Padawan Revan for Knight status." Revan gaped at him.

"Is Padawan Revan ready and worthy to become Jedi Knight?" Master Vrook asked solemnly, but his eyes twinkled at Revan's look of surprise.

"I judge her to be ready and worthy to become Jedi Knight," Master Vandar replied.

Master Vrook smiled. "Then Padawan Revan is now Jedi Knight Revan. Congratulations." He held out his hand to Revan, who took it automatically, and shook it.

Jolee beamed. "Congrats, kid."

Juhani smiled, her golden eyes sparkling. "Congratulations, Revan."

Captain Sennelos also smiled, and held her hand out to Revan. "Congratulations, Lady Jedi." She saluted Carth, who returned the formality. "I must be going. There are still many details to be planned. Com me if you have any questions, Revan. Good day to you." She nodded at the other Jedi and walked briskly out of the chamber.

Master Vrook and Master Vandar slipped out, unnoticed.

Revan turned to her friends. "Were you two in on this?"

Jolee cackled. "Naturally!"

"You old coot! I had no idea!" Revan laughed.

"That's the whole point of a surprise, my dear." Jolee shrugged, but his eyes twinkled, not at all sorry for not telling her.

Carth hugged Revan. "Congratulations."

Revan kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks." She wrapped an arm around his waist and turned back to the other Jedi. "I guess this calls for a small celebration. Want to come on back for dinner?"

Jolee and Juhani nodded. "Eh, why not? It's not like I've got anything better to do," Jolee said.

Carth frowned. "Did you... did you talk to Dustil?"

Jolee sobered. "Your kid's got a lot of anger in him, Carth. But I think Juhani and I managed to get him to simmer down and think. Give him some time to cool his head."

Carth nodded, slightly disappointed at not having better results. "I guess you're right." Revan hugged his waist in wordless support.

Juhani put a comforting hand on Carth's arm. "Do not worry, Carth. It is a long, uphill battle against such anger, but Dustil is an intelligent man. With time, he will come to an acceptance."

Carth blew out his breath. "Well, I can understand his need for time. It's a pretty big thing he needs to wrap his head around."

"Well, let's get going. Dinner awaits." Revan waved the two cases in her hands at the other Jedi. "And I should tell you about these missions the Order just gave me."

Revan spoke animatedly of their plans as they walked together to the speeder.

* * *

SweetiePea: Thanks for the compliments and review!

Shadow69: Thanks! And here's 3 whopping big chapters. :)

Anonymous-cat: Thank you.

daeana: Thanks, and Canderous shows up later. I'm not sure I feel up to writing him, but read AthenaPrime's After the Fall story for scads of Canderous goodness!


	16. Invitations

**Chapter 16: Invitations**

Carth, Revan, Juhani and Jolee sat around the table in the kitchen of their suite, nursing mugs of caffa. JC-01 had long since swept the demolished remains of their dinner away.

"So are you going with her, Carth?" Jolee asked, referring to the various missions the Order had just given Revan.

Carth flashed the old man a _You have to ask?_ look. "Of course."

Jolee raised an eyebrow. "What about Dustil?"

Carth's shoulders slumped a little. "I... I don't know. Maybe... maybe I should give him some time and space to, to think. That's what he asked for."

Jolee leaned back in his chair and looked at Revan. "Have you thought about asking him to come with you?"

Carth looked startled, while Revan looked thoughtful. "I... considered it. Why do you ask?"

Jolee sighed. "It should come as no surprise that he might make a decent Jedi."

Carth's eyebrows flew up. "What, my son? Well, that headmaster did say he was strong in the Force... I, I don't know..." he trailed off uncertainly.

Juhani interjected gently, "Did you not tell him, Revan?"

Carth frowned. "Tell me what?"

"Uh, in all the excitement, it kinda sorta slipped my mind," Revan said sheepishly.

"What?" Carth's frown deepened as he looked at her.

Revan sighed. No more dancing around. "Dustil... threw lightning at me."

Carth sucked in his breath. "Was... was that what made you scream earlier?" Revan nodded.

"Kid needs to control his anger, and the Force. Or you could be twitching on the floor someday, fried to a crisp because he couldn't control himself," Jolee said.

Carth looked dismayed. "But, but he'd have to join the Order..." He stiffened and stared at Revan. "The Jedi...? You want my only son to join the Jedi, after all they've done to you?" He couldn't conceal the anger that leaked into his voice.

Revan turned serious eyes on Carth. "Carth, you know why the Jedi had to do what they did. I have come to, well, not to terms with it yet, but I do not blame them for it. It is a just penance, and I am alive to appreciate this second chance. You would say the same, if you did not love me, and feel the anger and indignation you think you should feel on my behalf."

Carth stared at her. "But... he's my son," he said in a small voice. His anger was replaced by a kind of hopeless resignation. "I, I don't want to give him up."

Revan took his hands in hers. "Carth, don't look like that. I know you think the Jedi would take him away from you and never let you see him again, but that's simply not true. Dustil's a grown man now, there'd be no point in cutting his family ties to make sure there are no emotional entanglements."

Carth looked happier and more hopeful at that. "Do you really think so? They'd let me see him?"

Revan smiled. "Probably a lot more often than if he joined the Fleet."

Carth looked thoughtful. "You know, I never thought of it like that."

Jolee shook his head. "Letting Dustil walk around untutored is like giving an automated blaster cannon to a three-year-old, Carth. I'm the last one to say the Order doesn't have its share of warts, but it's the best place for him to get some training."

Carth looked at Jolee. "Did he say he wanted to join?"

"Not in so many words, but he did ask me to teach him. Sort of." Jolee's smile was crooked.

"I thought only Knights and Masters could teach new padawans," Carth said, looking at the elderly Jedi speculatively.

Jolee shifted. "Well, you're looking at one."

Revan looked at Jolee in surprise. "What? You're a Master?" She grinned. "And you didn't tell us!"

Jolee humphed, but he didn't look too unhappy. "It's no big deal. They just give you a new robe and say 'Here is your robe and lightsaber, keep it clean and free of dirt, do not wear it out, we are not made of credits'."

Revan laughed. "It's true that we don't stand on ceremony."

Carth smiled. "I guess I wouldn't mind too much if you were his Master, Jolee."

Jolee waved his comment away. "It's a little premature to say if Dustil will be my apprentice, or if I'll be his Master. Having him go with you would be a good test."

"Wait, you're coming with us?" Revan asked, surprised.

"Nope." Jolee shook his head.

Revan's brow wrinkled. "Then how would you know how the test came out?"

"When you both come back, alive and well," Jolee said calmly.

Revan leaned back in her chair, staring thoughtfully at Jolee. Then she turned to stare at the door. Carth was left feeling clueless as he watched the other two Jedi turn expectantly towards the door.

Dustil stepped in and was pinned by four pairs of eyes. "Uh. Good evening." He gave them a little nervous wave. "I'll, ah, just be going to my room." He fled.

Carth raised his eyebrows at Dustil's hasty retreat. "What did you two do to spook him?" he asked mildly.

Jolee shrugged. "Nothing. We just made him think. And he's probably more than a little embarrassed about his behavior today."

Carth sighed. "One step forward, two steps back."

Revan touched his hand. "It's still progress. We'll ask him and see if he wants to come along."

Carth covered her hand with his. "I know, you're right. I'm too impatient, I guess."

Jolee snorted. "If being a parent were easy, everyone would do it."

"So when do you leave on your mission, Revan?" Juhani asked, changing the subject.

Revan shrugged. "OFI will get back to us when the arrangements have been made, but Captain Sennelos seemed the efficient sort, so I expect we can leave in a few days. We'll drop off Mission and Zaalbar on Kashyyyk and then head towards the Outer Rim."

"Would you like to come with us, Juhani?" Carth asked.

Juhani looked wistful, but shook her head. "Much as I would love to go cavorting around the galaxy with you once more, I have my own mission. I have been thinking about combatting the slave trade more actively."

"It's an admirable and worthy task, Juhani," Revan said approvingly.

"About time someone started doing something about slavery, instead of just talking about it," Carth added.

"It is a task that I could use your help with, Revan," Juhani said hopefully.

Revan pursed her lips. "Eh, if you don't think asking the former Dark Lord of the Sith would harm your cause more than help. I'm certainly ready and willing to try."

Juhani smiled. "I am not as good with words as you are, Revan."

Revan leaned forward. "I'm not exactly part of the diplomatic corps or any inner circles of the affluent, but I've got a fairly substantial list of influential people, some of them Senators, in my database who'd be quite sympathetic to your cause..."

Carth laughed. Revan looked baffled at his mirth. She poked a finger in his ribs. "What's so funny?"

"Ow! It's just that we've got two, three missions from the Order, and here you are, working on another scheme with Juhani!" Carth grinned and rubbed his side. "You've got entirely too many fingers in too many pots right now, beautiful."

"And is there something wrong with that?" Revan asked, her lips twitching.

"No, but you might want to consider helping Juhani _after_ we get back."

Juhani nodded. "It will be a long, hard battle against slavery. One that will not be won until long after our own lifetimes. It can surely wait until you return."

"Yes, but I could always help get you started." Revan smiled impishly.

Juhani's eyes lit. "I... I would appreciate it greatly. Thank you."

Revan waved her thanks away. "No need to thank me, especially when I'm helping with such a good cause."

The incoming message chime sounded from the console.

Carth stood and went to answer it. His eyes widened in surprise. "Admiral Dodonna? Uh, good evening."

"Good evening, Carth. I just received word of your imminent retirement and your walking papers," Admiral Dodonna said.

Carth nodded. "I'm sorry, Admiral, that I couldn't take your offer. Maybe if, if things hadn't worked out the way they had... I would've been more than glad to accept. And I'm still honored that you gave me the opportunity."

Admiral Dodonna smiled. "There's no need to apologize, Carth. However, it should not surprise you that we in the Fleet would like to hold a small ceremony at Fleet HQ, to send off one of the best and most distinguished soldiers ever to serve the Republic."

Carth felt his face heat at the Admiral's effusive and earnest praise. "Uh, thank you, Admiral, but I'm not--"

Admiral Dodonna held up a hand to stop his denial. "You're too modest, Carth. Now, I also heard on the grapevine that you're going on a mission for OFI. So the ceremony will be held at 0900 tomorrow so that it won't interfere with your schedule," she said briskly.

"Uh, tomorrow?" Carth didn't bother to ask how the Admiral knew about OFI's mission so quickly.

"And you may invite anyone you'd like to the ceremony. Oh, please bring Revan with you. I'd like to meet her, and I dread what she'd do if she weren't invited. Probably land a speeder right in the middle of the platform." Admiral Dodonna looked amused.

Carth looked aside at Revan, who grinned and nodded. His lips twitched at the mental image. "She'd probably do just that, Admiral. Alright, thank you."

"See you tomorrow, Carth." Admiral Dodonna cut the com.

Carth blinked, bemused at the fast turn of events. He felt Revan's arm slip around his waist.

"I didn't know you'd already done the paperwork." Revan quirked her eyebrows at him.

"I, ah, had it all filled out a long time ago." Carth hugged her back.

"Really? Hm. So does this mean we're all invited?" Revan grinned. "I'll have HK-47 warm up the speeder if I'm not."

Carth chuckled. "I'd have to invite you just so I wouldn't die of mortification when you crash the speeder into the podium." He looked at Jolee and Juhani. "Would you like to come?"

"I'd have thumped you if you didn't invite us along," Jolee grumped, but his eyes were full of warmth.

"I would be honored to attend," Juhani said, smiling.

Carth sighed. "I guess I need to show up in dress uniform." He rubbed his neck, already anticipating the chafing he would suffer from the high collar. He looked enviously at the Jedi. "You guys have all the luck. A five-minute ceremony and you're done. You don't even have to dress up!"

All three Jedi smiled with varying amounts of smugness at him.

Jolee glanced at the time display. "Whoops, looks like it's time we were heading back, and I'm not getting any younger." Juhani nodded in agreement. "And you two have lots of planning to do for your trip."

"Would you like a ride back?" Revan offered.

Jolee shook his head. "Nah, it's a nice night and it's not far. And I don't need to lose any more years off what's left of my life, what with the way you drive."

Carth grinned. Revan pressed a hand to her heart, feigning hurt. "So Carth can drive. He drives like a little old lady, anyway."

Carth's grin disappeared. "I do not!"

Jolee snickered and Juhani covered her smile with one hand. "Good night, kids." He stepped out the door, Juhani following on his heels, leaving Revan and Carth to their plans.

Carth sat down on a couch and pulled Revan into his lap. He looked aside at the two data cases Revan had been given. "You know, you never told me you wanted to be a diplomat before."

Revan leaned against his chest. "All I've known is fighting and battles. I figure that, as a diplomat, I could do battle without shedding blood. I'd rather waste words than blood. Stop wars, instead of starting them." She grimaced.

Carth kissed her on the cheek and smiled. "You sure you won't be bored?"

Revan grinned mischievously. "Being a diplomat also means being sneaky, underhanded and cunning, with a bag of nasty, dirty tricks. Remember Roland Wann? A little espionage would perk me right back up."

Carth chuckled. "I see what you mean. You'd fit right in."

Revan opened up her data case and took out the chips inside. She looked at Carth. "Carth, these are just going to bore you to tears. Why don't you go talk to Dustil, now that he's calmed down a bit?"

"Good idea. I just hope I know what to say. You're the one who's got the silver tongue, not me." Carth slipped out from under her and stood up.

Revan shook her head. "Just say what's in your heart, Carth." She took his hand and kissed the back of it, for luck. She turned back to her datapad, already looking absorbed by what she read there.

Carth had to smile. He walked to Dustil's room and knocked tentatively on his door. "Dustil?" he called softly.

Dustil's muffled voice said, "Uh, come on in, Father."

Carth stepped in and closed the door. He sat down on a chair. Dustil sat on the bed, looking warily at him. He rubbed the back of his neck, at a loss for words. All very easy for Revan to say, to just say what was in his heart. "So, um, how'd your talk with Jolee and Juhani go?"

Dustil's eyes flickered. "Okay. They told me I was being stupid, mostly."

Carth hid a smile. "That sounds like Jolee. Don't feel too bad, son. He's told me that, too. Numerous times."

"Father... I'm sorry. Sorry I lost it today. Jolee said I'm more likely to get angry than anything else, and... I think he's right." Dustil looked down at his hands.

Carth leaned over and touched his son's arm. "I know what it feels like, son. When the world has come crashing down and it feels like you can't do anything but hit back at the universe, because it hurts so much."

Dustil looked up and saw the understanding in his father's eyes. And... regret? Had his father, too, done things he regretted, in anger? He covered his father's hand with his own. "Yeah. That's what it feels like. I... I'm sorry, by the way. For the words I said to you when I saw you on Korriban."

Carth shook his head. "You don't have to apologize, son."

"No, I have to. I had this, this illusion of you, all built up inside my head. The Sith had lied to me about you, and the Republic, but... I didn't exactly resist. I saw how much I hurt you, and I was glad. Now I'm ashamed. Really ashamed." Dustil looked away, unable to meet his father's eyes.

Carth shook his son's arm gently, making Dustil look at him. "I'm just glad you feel differently now, son." He smiled. "Listen... I have to go to some ceremony tomorrow at Fleet HQ. They're throwing it because I'm retiring from the Fleet. Would you... like to come?" he asked hesitantly. "I'll understand if you don't want to go, I mean, it can get pretty boring, with all the speeches and toasts and whatnot."

Dustil looked relieved at the change of subject. "Sure, I'd love to. Who else is going to be there?"

Carth beamed at his son's acceptance. "Well, Admiral Dodonna, of course. A bunch of Fleet brass, no doubt. Jolee, Juhani... and I'll see if I can track Mission and Zaalbar down. Revan'll be there. Admiral Dodonna practically ordered me to bring her along, considering what she did the last time I went to Fleet HQ."

Dustil chuckled, but sobered after a moment. "I have to apologize to her, too."

"Don't worry about it, son. She understands."

Dustil stared in disbelief at his father. "She doesn't mind that I tried to kill her? And I almost killed you!"

Carth squeezed his son's arm. "Well, maybe she does mind, a little, but she understands why you did it. And you didn't kill me."

"Only because she stopped me. I think she was more afraid I'd hurt you than she was when I was going after her."

"It still didn't happen. Don't beat yourself up over it, son. Learn from your mistakes. Keep your temper and control your anger. It's hard, I know." Carth tilted his head. "Son... do you want to become a Jedi? Is it what you want?"

Dustil looked away and stared into the middle distance. "I don't know how to explain it, Father. It... it felt like a door opened up in my heart, when I asked Jolee if he'd teach me. It, it feels right. Like I'm doing what I should be doing. Does that make any sense?" He looked back at Carth.

Carth rubbed his chin, his fingers rasping on his whiskers. "I... I think so, son. It's a feeling I've had before. When we got the second-to-last Star Map, and we were on our way to the final one, Revan asked each of us, the crew, to choose. To choose to go on with her, or not. Said it was only going to get more dangerous, the further we went. And that it could mean all our deaths.

"We all of us chose to go on. She told me to go to Telos and find you. And even though I was tempted, I told her I couldn't, that I was sticking around, whatever happened. I'm not sure I can explain, either, the feeling I had. The feeling that I was exactly where I was supposed to be, whether we survived the Star Forge, or not."

Dustil nodded. "It sounds like you were on one real hell of an adventure, Father." He looked envious.

Carth snorted. "An adventure is someone else having a miserable time somewhere far away. I've had enough 'adventure' to last me ten lifetimes."

Dustil grinned at the tartness in his father's tone. He thought he detected a wistful gleam in Carth's eyes, though.

"Speaking of adventure... it looks like Revan has volunteered me for another one. And, well, it's one where you could come with us... if you like?" Carth asked slowly.

"What? Really? Doing what? Where?" The questions tumbled out in Dustil's eagerness.

Carth was a little taken aback by Dustil's excitement. "Whoa, son. It's nothing that exciting, really. We're going on a trip to the Outer Rim, to meet up with the Fleet task force investigating the ship that's been sending assassins after us. 

"Revan's been tapped as the diplomatic liason between the Rakata--those're the aliens whose ancestors made the Star Forge--and the Republic. That's when I suspect things will really get boring...

"Anyway, while we're en route to the task force, OFI wants us to go information gathering. Meet up with their agents on planets near where the Sith have been making raids, to see if we can't get a better handle on where they're hiding."

Dustil looked unfazed by Carth's warning that the trip would be boring. "I'd, I'd love to go, Father. And... I'd like the chance to get to spend some time with you, and get to know you, and Revan, better." He suddenly looked downcast. "But I asked Jolee to teach me... I guess I can't go."

"It was Jolee's idea in the first place, for us to ask you to come along. Said it would be a good test, whatever that means," Carth said, reassuringly.

Dustil perked back up. "Oh... Oh. I... think I see. In that case, I'd be glad to come with you." He grinned happily.

Carth grinned back. "Then... welcome aboard, son." He held out his hand, and Dustil shook it.


	17. Surprises

**Chapter 17: Surprises**

Revan looked up at Carth, who stood on the dais with a bored expression on his face. She grinned.

The ceremony had started predictably enough, as Admiral Dodonna made a speech praising Carth, and listing all of his many achievements, both in the Mandalorian Wars and the quest for the Star Forge. Carth had looked embarrassed and stiff throughout, as other Fleet officers stepped up to sing his praises.

He had been presented with more medals honoring his long and dedicated service to the Republic and the Fleet, Admiral Dodonna pinning them to his chest herself, adding to the already-large constellation of glittering honors there.

Admiral Dodonna stood after the last Fleet officer had finished his speech and walked to the podium. Revan noticed the tiny gleam of humor in her eyes as she faced Carth once more.

"Commander Carth Onasi, we in the Fleet are deeply saddened that you have chosen not to accept the rank of Admiral. Today, we lose one of the best soldiers to have ever served the Republic. It has been a pleasure, and a great honor, to have had you under my command," Admiral Dodonna said.

Carth flashed Revan and Dustil a long-suffering look, his face slightly flushed with embarrassment.

"However, we would like to retroactively retire you as Commodore Onasi," the Admiral continued.

Carth's jaw dropped at that. Admiral Dodonna smiled at him with a touch of mischief in her eyes, and held out her hand to her aide, who passed a small jewel case to her.

The Admiral opened it and displayed the contents briefly to the audience, before taking the rank pips and attaching them to Carth's collar. She saluted him. "Commodore Onasi, we salute you."

The rest of the Fleet officers rose and saluted him, almost in unison.

Carth saluted Admiral Dodonna and the other officers automatically. Revan could see he was still shocked by the blank expression on his face. "Th-thank you, Admiral."

The ceremony ended, and Carth was no doubt extremely grateful he didn't have to make a thank-you speech.

"So, you're a bigshot officer now, huh?" Mission grinned at Carth, who still looked blitzed. "Guess you won't have time for your lowlife friends now."

Carth blinked and grinned at Mission. "Hey, I'm not an officer anymore, I'm a civilian now. I've got more than enough time on my hands for kids." He winked.

Mission laughed. "Nice to see you've still got a sense of humor, for a geezer."

Zaalbar growled.

"Translation: The hirsute meatbag congratulates you and is glad you have received the honors and rank that are due you. Statement: I suppose this means I must now refer to you as 'Commodore Meatbag'." HK-47 said.

"Thanks, Zaalbar." Carth smiled up at the towering Wookiee. "And, uh, thanks, HK. I think."

Juhani smiled and toasted Carth with her drink. "Congratulations, Carth."

"Just don't let it go to your head, young man," Jolee said, sipping his glass of wine and munching cheerfully on a canapé.

"Not when I've got you around to nip my delusions of grandeur in the bud," Carth replied dryly.

Jolee cackled. "You're welcome, too, sonny."

"Congratulations, Father," Dustil said, smiling at him over the rim of his own glass of wine.

"Thanks, son." Carth saw that Dustil wasn't looking as overawed as he had, back when they had first come into Fleet HQ. It was probably Revan's doing. He had seen her whisper what were probably highly-inappropriate jokes to his son, while he had been stuck up on the dais.

He had seen Dustil stifle laughter, and the people around Revan had also looked suspiciously stiff, as if they, too, were trying to keep from laughing.

Carth smiled. He thought Revan and Dustil were getting along more easily now, despite some awkwardness.

Zaalbar sniffed and turned towards the tables laden with food. He growled at Mission.

Mission rolled her eyes. "You just ate, Big Z!" Zaalbar howled.

"Alright, alright! People'd think I don't feed you eight square meals a day!" Mission sighed and led the way to the small gathering of people browsing the buffet.

The others dispersed to mingle with the crowd, leaving Carth and Revan momentarily alone.

"'Commodore Onasi.' It's got a nice ring to it, although possibly not as nice as 'Admiral Onasi'," Revan said, smiling.

Carth shook his head at her. "They jumped me too many ranks as it is. I'm not sure I should've accepted..."

Revan looked up at him in disbelief. "The Admiral was right. You are too modest. You risked your life so many times during the wars, you came with me and helped destroy the Star Forge... and you don't think you should've taken a promotion?"

"I was just thinking promotion to captain would've been more than enough," Carth said, chuckling at her vehemence.

"How about a statue?"

Carth made a face. "Perish the thought." He waved his hand around, taking in the reception. "This is embarrassing enough."

Revan gave him a wicked smile. "Could be worse. They could make it a nude. And they could put it right in the middle of Fleet HQ's atrium."

Carth reddened. "Even worse." He thought about all the people who walked in and out of Fleet HQ all day and night, passing by such a hypothetical statue. He shuddered.

Revan was still smiling wickedly. "I wouldn't mind."

"Why have a statue when you could have the real thing?" Carth smiled slyly.

"That's true." Revan gave him a sly smile of her own. "Well, I don't think it's enough." She looked around, and saw that no one was looking in their direction for the moment. She pulled Carth's head down by the collar. "I must think of a suitable reward for you when we get back," she cooed softly into his ear, before releasing her hold.

Carth glanced sideways at Revan, seeing the bright gleam in her eyes. "Hm... then why don't we go now?" he suggested, grinning.

"Because I can see Captain Sennelos making her way towards us," Revan replied. She elbowed him gently.

Carth turned his head, to see the OFI captain was indeed walking unobtrusively towards them. She was stopping briefly to greet her colleagues, before continuing on her way.

"Congratulations, Commodore," Captain Sennelos gave Carth a grave salute when she had reached them.

Carth returned the salute just as gravely. "Thank you, Captain. Is there something we can do for you?" he asked politely.

"I hope you don't mind my crashing this party, but it seemed the most efficient way for me to tell you that all of the arrangements have been made," Captain Sennelos said. She handed a packet to Revan. "Here are all of the documents you need. I've also included several sets of identity papers for you to tailor as needed."

Revan smiled and took the packet. She slipped it into her robes. "I knew my confidence in your abilities was not misplaced. We will be dropping off Mission and Zaalbar on Kashyyyk, by the way... will OFI have any trouble with that?"

Captain Sennelos shook her head. "Not at all. May I ask when you will be leaving?"

Revan pursed her lips. "I'll have to talk to Mission and Zaalbar, but I believe we can leave in another three days."

Captain Sennelos nodded. "Very good. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to call me. Good day to you. And congratulations again, Commodore." She saluted Carth again.

Carth saluted the captain back. "Thanks." He turned to Revan. "Can we go now?" he asked plaintively.

Revan grinned. "It's a reception in your honor. What do you think?"

Carth groaned and tugged at the high collar of his uniform. "Maybe HK-47 can stun me and you could have them carry me out."

"Supplication: Please allow me to fulfill Commodore Meatbag's request, Master!" HK-47 said eagerly. He brandished his blaster rifle, making the people nearby very nervous.

"I said 'stun', HK, 'stun'!" Carth said hurriedly. He suppressed the urge to hide behind Revan.

Revan stifled a giggle. "Oh, go and stand menacingly by the wall." She watched the droid shuffle off dejectedly. "Deserting in the heat of battle, soldier?"

Carth heaved a small sigh of relief as the droid walked off. "As long as I get to leave after the court-martial."

Revan laughed. "Oh, go and talk to the Admiral. You must know some of your fellow soldiers here, and they can't all be REMFs." She saw Admiral Dodonna bearing down on them. "Too late, here she comes."

Carth straightened his uniform and turned, making sure he had a suitable smile on his face.

"Chin up, soldier. Just think about that reward I promised you. Maybe I'll do one of those dances I told you about on Korriban," Revan whispered encouragingly to him.

Carth choked.

Revan smiled beatifically as she thumped Carth's back.

Carth shot her a _I'll get you_ look, but couldn't say anything because Admiral Dodonna had reached them.

Admiral Dodonna looked at Carth's slightly-suffused face, then at Revan's merrily-twinkling eyes. She grinned. "I see that even though you've retired, Carth, the lady Jedi here is keeping life interesting for you."

Carth gave the Admiral a crooked smile. "Isn't that supposed to be a curse, Admiral? Um, anyway, this is Jedi Knight Revan. Revan, Admiral Dodonna. You were never properly introduced back on the Rakata homeworld."

"Master Vandar's announcement wouldn't have been such a surprise if we had been, Carth," Admiral Dodonna said dryly.

Revan grinned and shook hands with Admiral Dodonna. "Even though Carth's retired, Admiral, I will endeavor to keep his days and nights busy. Very busy. Especially the nights!"

Carth flushed slightly, but couldn't help smiling a trifle smugly.

Admiral Dodonna laughed. "I see. Well, I'm glad to see Carth's in good hands, then. I am glad to finally meet you again, Lady Jedi, under more pleasant circumstances. The Order has promoted you, as well?"

Revan shook her head. "Please call me Revan, Admiral. And promotion to Jedi Knight or even Master doesn't mean the same thing as a promotion in the military. It's more of a recognition by the Order of the Jedi's wisdom and abilities than it is a reward."

Admiral Dodonna nodded. "I see." She turned to Carth. "Well, just because you're no longer working for us, Carth, I am happy to see you're still undertaking assignments for the Republic."

Carth smiled. "Just because I'm retired doesn't mean I'll be sitting on my hands. Or that Revan would let me. Just think of me as an independent agent."

"Do you think you might be interested in taking on some missions for the Fleet then, Carth?" Admiral Dodonna asked hopefully. "If so, there are some officers here I'd like you to meet..." She waved a hand at a knot of Fleet officers who were looking expectantly in their direction.

Carth looked at Revan, who smiled and flicked a finger. "Sure, Admiral, I'd be happy to hear you out." He followed the Admiral to the group, listening to her speak animatedly of the plans they had.

Revan watched them walk off with a smile on her face. She sipped her wine, deciding to head towards the buffet, where she saw Zaalbar had monopolized one whole table. Only a few brave souls were willing to venture near to snatch the tidbits on it, though Zaalbar didn't look like he minded sharing. She shook her head.

Only her instincts and a warning tingle of the Force crawling down the back of her neck alerted her to the knife that snaked out to stab her in the back.

Revan dropped her glass and threw herself backward in a reverse somersault, bouncing away. The assassin, dressed as a waiter, followed swiftly, striking rapidly with his knife. She could see the sickly, oily sheen on the blade, indicating it was coated with some sort of poison. Dimly she could hear the alarmed cries of the people nearby.

She was thrown on the defensive, the assassin hounding her too closely and quickly for her to use her lightsaber or the Force. He was nearly as quick as she was, desperation and fear lending him an edge, now that he had lost the element of surprise.

Revan slapped his knife hand aside and spun into him, driving her elbow hard into the assassin's face, knocking him back. But she had forgotten that her friends were present, with her concentration so tightly focussed.

The assassin was hit, almost simultaneously, with a Force stasis, a bolt of lightning, a blaster bolt that severed his knife arm, and Carth, who spun the assassin around and punched him with an uppercut so hard, the assassin landed several feet away. His limp body crashed onto and broke a buffet table, sending food flying.

Zaalbar picked the assassin up with one hand and roared into his face, stunning him if he wasn't already.

Carth started forward, with the intent of pummeling the assassin with his bare hands, from the thunderous expression on his face. Revan's hand on his arm stopped him.

"We need him alive, Carth, for questioning," Revan said. She looked around at the footsteps approaching her. Her friends rushed up, babbling and asking if she was all right.

Revan held up a hand for silence. "Thanks for the assist, guys, but I'm fine. Don't touch it!" she said sharply to Mission, who had stooped to look at the knife dropped a little ways from the arm. "It's got poison all over it."

Revan's next words were interrupted when Carth wrapped his arms around her in a crushing hug. She patted him on the back. "I'm okay, Carth, really."

"I can't leave you alone for one minute, can I?" Carth asked rhetorically. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head.

Jolee frowned deeply at the sight of the assassin, whose limp form was now being restrained by Fleet Security. "This does not bode well, Revan, for an assassin to be able to reach right into the heart of Fleet HQ."

Admiral Dodonna swept up to them, Republic Marines guarding her back. Most likely uselessly. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and pale. "Are you all right, Revan, Carth?"

"I'm really disappointed by the state of the security here, Admiral. It leaves a lot, a lot, to be desired," Carth growled. Revan's warning squeeze on his arm kept him from saying anything more scathing and pungent to what was technically still his superior officer. He still had Revan wrapped protectively in his arms.

"Agreed, Carth. I shall certainly tear the Head of Security a new one on your behalf," Admiral Dodonna grated. "The assassin is alive, though just barely. His jaw's been completely shattered, which will make getting him to talk a bit difficult, though not impossible."

Carth sucked absently on his split knuckles. "His jaw's not the only thing I'd like to break." Admiral Dodonna looked as if she agreed.

Revan took his hand and used the Force to heal the abrasions. "Calmly, Carth. We still have to know how he managed to infiltrate Fleet HQ. At least the weapons scanners prevented him from bringing anything more, um, lethal, like a bomb."

"Information: This HK-47 unit is equipped with the very latest in explosives-detection sensors, Master. You need not fear such a tactic," HK-47 said from behind Revan. He was scanning the room alertly, blaster rifle held at the ready.

Revan was glad that she had been able to convince the guards to let the droid keep his gun. "I'm glad you've learned to use non-lethal shots, HK."

"Statement: I am merely acting as per your orders, Master. No matter how much it pains me when they conflict with my desire to terminate meatbags."

Admiral Dodonna looked warily at the droid. She shook her head. "My blood runs cold at the close call we all got. Half the commanding officers of the Fleet could've been wiped out!"

"This wasn't what I meant, when I said I wanted to leave early," Carth muttered.

"Well, you know what they say about wishes and what you should beware of," Revan whispered back. She ducked her head at the Admiral contritely. "I'm sorry, Admiral, for bringing my troubles with me."

Admiral Dodonna waved her hand impatiently. "On the contrary, Revan, we should thank you for opening our eyes to see just how lax we've become. We've become complacent... Just because we won the war doesn't mean the Sith aren't still out there, somewhere. Licking their wounds, maybe, but still out there." She sighed.

The Admiral's aide stepped to her side and whispered into her ear. Admiral Dodonna pursed her lips and turned back to Revan. "OFI, Republic Intelligence and the Jedi Order have just been told of the attempt on your life, Revan. They're sending their special investigators over even as we speak."

The Admiral looked around at the controlled chaos in the reception hall. "Come, let's go to my office. It'll be more comfortable and quiet there there. No one can leave or enter Fleet HQ right now, anyway, since we're in lockdown."

*** * ***

Revan, Carth, Dustil and the rest of the crew sat in comfortable chairs in Admiral Dodonna's office, drinking caffa. HK-47 stood guard outside in the hall, no doubt making the Republic Marines who flanked the doorway rather nervous.

"Stupid, stupid..." Revan was muttering.

"What are you muttering about, Revan?" Juhani asked.

"That assassin... how stupid his tactics seem right now," Revan replied. She frowned.

"Stupid? He almost got you! I mean, I happened to be looking in your direction when he attacked you, and I saw how close he got! Like, this close!" Mission said, holding up her thumb and index finger a tiny fraction of an inch apart.

Carth tightened the arm he had wrapped around Revan. "Mission's right. If it weren't for your uncanny luck, or, or the Force..."

Revan twined the fingers on one hand with his. "I know. The Force warned me in time, though."

"I've... seen the kind of poison the Sith can make... and I think I recognized one sort of it on that knife. Just a scratch could kill you in seconds, while making you wish you were dead," Dustil put in. He seemed reluctant to volunteer the information, in that august company.

Carth frowned deeply at his son. Dustil shrugged helplessly.

"I suspected something of the sort. The effects of Sith weapons of any kind are rather predictable," Revan said.

"Why do you think the assassin acted stupidly?" Juhani asked.

Revan rubbed the side of her nose. "Well, he tried to kill me while you were all there, for one thing."

"He made sure you were alone, or relatively alone, before striking though," Jolee said.

"Yes... the fact that he waited until Carth went off says his primary target was me," Revan said musingly. "Still... why not do it in the street? Why do it in Fleet HQ? It couldn't have been easy, getting through security. And how did he, or they, know we'd be there?"

"Well, you'd feel safe here, letting your guard down. You wouldn't leave yourself so open in the street, especially considering the last two attacks on us were out in the open," Carth said. He frowned. "You're _supposed_ to be safe in Fleet HQ, of all places, dammit."

"A point. The last two attacks on us consisted of large groups, and he acted alone. Or seemed to act alone." Revan sighed. "Still, his tactics seem crude. If he had poison, why not poison the food or the drinks?"

"It would've clued us in when people started dropping like flies," Jolee said dryly.

Revan shook her head. "There are some poisons that don't kick in until later. Still, I suppose such poisons are useless against Jedi."

"Hey... you don't think that maybe... maybe someone here could've let him in?" Mission asked hesitantly, looking at Carth.

Carth stiffened. "It's... possible, I guess. Much as I'd hate to think a fellow soldier sold us out."

"It doesn't necessarily mean someone sold us out intentionally. There were two Dark Jedi in the last group after all. They may have suborned someone with Force persuasion, and used the hypothetical soldier's codes to hack into the Fleet's computer system, digging up... something. Something that let them know where we'd be, and when," Revan said slowly.

Mission made a face. "I'd hate to be Fleet Security right now. They'll have their hands full cleaning stuff up."

Zaalbar chuffed amusedly at the Twi'lek scoundrel.

"Well, yeah, I'm usually the one who makes the messes, but it was all in a good cause! Besides, I'd never touch Fleet. They're the good guys!" Mission stuck her tongue out at Zaalbar.

Revan chuckled. "Use your powers for good, not evil, Mission."

Mission grinned. "I do!"

Revan leaned back on Carth's chest. "This new attack makes it all the more imperative that we be on our way. No assassins can reach us in hyperspace, and it would be very hard for any more to find us." She scowled. "It does seem like we're running away, though."

Carth dropped a kiss on top of her head. "It's not running away, it's a strategic retreat," he said into her hair.

"Yeah, you'd be safe on Kashyyyk!" Mission said. Zaalbar howled his agreement.

"The fact that the Wookiees will allow only the _Ebon Hawk_ to dock on the planet counts for much," Juhani said.

"We're all ready to go if you are, Revan. Me and Big Z loaded everything up in the _Ebon Hawk_ last night," Mission said.

"The sooner you can find the source of these assassins, the better. I can't be having with all of these people running around and attacks disturbing my mornings," Jolee put in.

Revan blew a loud raspberry at Jolee, making him laugh. "I'll be sure to have the Sith schedule their attacks on me more conveniently so that I can give you some warning."

"See that you do," Jolee said, grinning.

Admiral Dodonna walked in on their laughter. "I see the attack on you hasn't gotten you down, Revan."

"Well, like I told Bastila a long time ago, Admiral, sometimes it's either laugh or cry, and only the Force knows if it's all the same to it," Revan said. "Have you found out anything from the assassin?"

Admiral Dodonna collapsed into her chair behind her desk, looking tired. "Well, Fleet Security's going to have a merry time, combing through the entire computer system, trying to find any and all Sith-planted programs, for one thing."

Mission shot Revan a _See, what did I tell you_ look.

"How do you know Fleet computer security has been compromised, Admiral?" Carth asked.

"Because the authorization code to let that assassin in was signed by a forty-years man I'd trust my very life to. There's no way he would've betrayed me or the Fleet. Unfortunately, he also had one of the highest levels of access into our computers," Admiral Dodonna replied.

Carth stared at the Admiral skeptically. "I said that about Saul Karath, too, Admiral."

Admiral Dodonna shook her head. "True, but Karath was given an offer he couldn't refuse; he was always an ambitious man. The man I'm talking about has refused promotion after promotion. He could've taken flag rank by now, but he was happy to stay in Fleet Security.

"No... Master Vandar sent some special Jedi investigators, and they told me there're signs he was influenced by Force persuasion. And he might not be the only one." Admiral Dodonna sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Revan exchanged significant glances with the rest of the crew. "So we know for a fact that the assassin is a Sith, and with the same group who attacked us earlier?"

The Admiral nodded. "If nothing else, the poison on that knife was a dead giveaway. That's the conclusion all three groups of investigators have come to, though they admit that yet another group with Dark Jedi could be out there, somewhere.

"The assassin has no Sith tattoos, but the Jedi tell me the mind block on him seems to be lighter than on the others. It's possible they could break it in as little as a month's time, and then we'd know for sure."

"A month? We don't have a month!" Carth exclaimed.

"I know... I think you and Revan should expedite your departure. It'd throw any more assassins off and make it that much harder to find you, especially when you've changed your identities," Admiral Dodonna said.

"We could leave as early as this afternoon, though I told Captain Sennelos we'd leave in three days." Revan looked at Carth, Dustil, Mission and Zaalbar, each in turn.

Mission and Zaalbar nodded. "We're all packed and ready to go. Everything's already on the _Hawk_," Mission said.

"We've been ready since last night. We just have to go back and pick our stuff up," Carth said. Dustil nodded his agreement.

"The lockdown's been lifted, so you're all free to go." Admiral Dodonna rose, and so did everyone else. "Carth, Revan, good luck." She saluted Carth, who saluted back. She took the hand Revan extended to her and shook it firmly.

"May the Force be with you, Admiral," Revan said by way of goodbye, and swept out the door with her friends trailing behind her, leaving the Admiral's office much emptier.


	18. Departure

**Chapter 18: Departure**

"For the last time, HK-47, you can't come with me!" Revan said in exasperation. She directed the assassin droid to put down his burdens in the cargo bay of the _Ebon Hawk_.

"Protest: But Master! You are taking JC-01 and BR-01 with you! Surely I could accompany you and blast any importunate meatbags you may encounter?" HK-47 said.

"That's exactly why you can't come along. This is a diplomatic mission, and the last thing I need is a droid following me around saying things like that. As for BR-01, he's the ship's mechanic, he's needed. And JC-01, well, I've gotten used to good food." Revan shook her head. "No, you'll stay here, and mind the house. T3-M4 will keep you company." _And on a leash._

"Expletive: "Damn it, Master, I am an assassination droid, not a housekeeper." HK-47 finished putting down the supplies and things Mission and Zaalbar had purchased for the trip to Kashyyyk.

"Go on, HK. Take the speeder back and don't blast anyone who doesn't blast you first. And the house had better not be wrecked when we get back," Revan said sternly.

"Resignation: Yes, Master." HK-47 walked sulkily out of the cargo bay.

Carth stuck his head into the cargo bay. "All ready here?"

Revan ticked the items off on her datapad. "Yes. You can take us up now." She followed him to the cockpit and dropped into the co-pilot's chair. She looked aside as the proximity alarms sounded.

"Incoming! Damn, they're fast," Carth said as he looked out at the tiny armada of ships bearing the logos of various interstellar news services. The board started to flood with messages. "Too bad we can't blow them out of the sky like we can Sith fighters."

"You'd better not let them hear you say that. It'd totally ruin your reputation as the shining example of a Republic soldier poster-boy." Revan grinned.

Carth snorted. "They can take my reputation and stuff it. Besides, I'm a civilian now, I'm allowed my opinions." He rapidly tapped in the hyperspace coordinates he had already drawn up for making rapid, random, and above all, numerous, jumps to throw off pursuit.

Revan snickered. "Some opinions you'd better keep to yourself, flyboy, or they'll just blow everything happily out of proportion."

"Hang on, everybody, this is gonna be one heck of a ride!" Carth announced. He turned to Revan, his hands moving over the controls automatically. "They blow everything out of proportion anyway."

Mission's voice drifted towards the cockpit from the holo room. "Here's hoping you haven't been on an all-night Tarisian ale drinking binge, Carth!"

Carth laughed.

The tail of the _Ebon Hawk_ waggled a little, sending the ship's equivalent of a finger-waving hand on the nose, and entered hyperspace, leaving the news service ships in its wake.

*** * ***

Dustil walked to his bunk, carrying his pack and meager belongings. He looked around at the sparse furnishings. Even though it wasn't nearly as luxurious as his room, he felt happy and excited to finally be out and about, doing something.

He suspected Revan and Carth felt the same way, from the light in their eyes. He supposed two months of being feted, parties, ceremonies and receptions had taken their toll on their patience, especially Carth's.

He put his things away into their compartments and his footlocker. He was about to walk back out of the starboard crew quarters when he was grabbed by an invisible fist and slammed forcefully into the wall.

Mission, the Twi'lek, appeared out of thin air, holding his collar with her hands. Dustil blinked down at her. "Mission? What?"

Zaalbar loomed over him from behind her. Dustil stared up at the Wookiees. He had never looked so... menacing, before. And neither had Mission, for all that she stood a head shorter than he.

The blue Twi'lek was looking at him with deadly serious eyes. Emphasis on 'deadly'. It was a complete departure from the cheerful and mischievous expression she usually wore.

"Mission, Zaalbar, what... what's this all about? What did I do to, to offend you?" Dustil asked in bewilderment. She had not released her hold on his shirt.

"I've seen the way you look at Revan when you think no one's looking, chuba-face. It doesn't take a genius or a Jedi to know you've still got a grudge against her." The set of Mission's chin dared him to deny it.

Dustil stared at Mission in surprise. He hadn't thought his hostility had been so obvious. But then he hadn't exactly had practice in schooling his face to show no emotion or betray his thoughts, like Revan did.

Neither Carth nor Revan had commented on it. His father probably knew but chose not to say anything, and Revan was perceptive enough to sense it, but also chose not to say anything. Probably because she knew it would be futile, if not counter-productive.

"It's none of your business, Mission," Dustil said, a little arrogance leaking into his voice. It was the wrong tactic.

Mission shoved her face into his. "You got a problem with my big sister, you got a problem with me and Big Z! I don't know why you're being such a bantha-brain about this, I mean, everyone must've explained to you about her by now." She shook her head in disappointment and disgust. "Even Carth got over it. Too bad his kid's not smart enough to let things go."

Dustil bristled at the insult, and from someone two years younger than he! "You don't understand! You don't understand what she did!"

Mission curled her lip. "I understand more than you think, you nerf-herder. My home, Taris, was bombed by Malak's fleet, too. You think I wasn't all torn up about it, even though it was a dump? If Revan hadn't turned evil, that wouldn't have happened."

Zaalbar howled softly behind her.

Mission nodded, but kept her eyes on Dustil. "Big Z's right. If that had never happened, Big Z'd be a slave and I'd probably be swinging my head-tails around as a joygirl right now. Or, or even dead! Revan gave me and Big Z a home, and a family, when she could've just ditched us on the first planet we went to after escaping the bombing.

"Now I've got a great big family, when I thought all I had was a loser brother and Big Z. Big Z got his honor back and he's not exiled anymore. He'll be a great chief, and that just never would've happened if Revan hadn't kicked the asses of those no-good, slaving, rotten Czerka creeps off Kashyyyk, and helped free his people from slavery.

"And you'd still be rotting in that Sith Academy, learning how to be a no-good, rotten Sith." Mission let Dustil go, as if he were something disgusting she didn't want to touch anymore.

Mission's eyes were hard. "This is just a friendly warning, on account of you being Carth's son and all. But if you hurt one hair on Revan's head..." Dustil felt a blaster barrel press into his stomach. It seemed to burn with a cold fire.

Zaalbar growled, a low, ratcheting sound. It had strange harmonics that seemed to reach through Dustil's ears and touch the bit of his brain that remembered everything, going all the way back to the primitive cavemen, and the giant animals that preyed upon them, lurking and waiting, just out of sight.

"Revan swore a life-debt to Zaalbar the other night, remember? And that means she's practically Big Z's sister or something. Believe me, you don't want one fighting-mad Wookiees after you, much less Big Z's relatives." Mission withdrew her blaster, and reholstered it.

Dustil slumped a little, defeated. "I'm... I'm working on it, Mission. I told Jolee I'd do my best to keep my temper. And... let things go. But... it's hard." Dustil hung his head. If even a 14-year-old Twi'lek could see right through him...

Mission's eyes softened, just a little. Zaalbar leaned down to peer into Dustil's face. He could feel the warmth of the Wookiees's breath on his face, he was so close. Zaalbar straightened back up and chuffed.

Mission looked up and back at Zaalbar, then at Dustil, consideringly. "Yeah, I think he's telling the truth, too. I can't tell if someone's lying like Revan can, but... I think you're sincere enough, I guess. And he did leave the Sith on his own, once his head was slapped hard enough."

Dustil gave her a weak smile.

Mission frowned. "But I'll be watching you, and so will Big Z! You even look at Revan funny, Big Z'll slap you upside the head so hard, you'll end up orbiting what's left of Taris."

Zaalbar growled. Dustil needed no translation for what he said.

"Okay, I think we've made our point, Big Z." Mission shrugged. "He'll get it, or he won't."

Dustil breathed out a silent sigh of relief.

Mission stepped back and held out her hand. Dustil stared at it, then reached out slowly to grasp it.

Mission shook his hand solemnly. "Look, just because you've been a total idiot doesn't mean you have to still be one. Me and Big Z, well, we're willing to be friends if you are."

Dustil gaped at the two. "Wh-what? You just threatened to kill me if I hurt Revan!"

Mission rolled her eyes. "Sheesh, I said it was just a warning. Hey, we just figured you couldn't have had many friends in that Academy, which might explain why you're being such a nerf-herder. And you haven't been on Coruscant long enough to find any there yet. So... me and Big Z can be the first in line. If you want."

Dustil looked at Mission, then at Zaalbar. "I'd... I'd be happy to have both of you as... friends." Dustil stared at them, still mentally reeling.

Mission nodded, as if threatening and then befriending people were all in a day's work. She turned and left, Zaalbar following after her.

Leaving Dustil alone in the crew quarters, with his thoughts. His lips puffed out in a silent laugh. Revan's friends had a penchant for knocking him for a mental loop, and then leaving him by himself with his scattered wits.

Mission and Zaalbar stepped onto the tiny bridge, Zaalbar's bulk making it seem even smaller than it was.

"We'll take this shift, guys. We already unpacked our stuff when we finished loading on supplies," Mission said.

"That's right kind of you, Mission." Revan looked up from the instrument panels. She raised her eyebrows at the strangely self-satisfied expression on the scoundrel's face. _It's probably better not to ask..._ She looked inquiringly at Carth.

Carth smiled up at Mission and Zaalbar. "Thanks, Mission, Zaalbar." He rose from his seat, squeezing past the Wookiees and walked out to the holo room, hearing Revan following behind him.

Revan and Carth went into the port crew quarters. They had the whole section to themselves; the others, by silent agreement, had moved to the starboard quarters.

Carth saw that one whole bunk was covered completely in notes, datapads and checklists. "I haven't seen so much paperwork since figuring out logistics for a task force."

Revan smiled. "There are a lot of details to figure out." She turned serious. "Carth... I was thinking about Dustil. We've brought him along, but surely you don't plan on leaving him on the ship when we're in dock while the two of us go out on reconnaissance?"

Carth rubbed the back of his neck. "To be honest, I, uh, never thought that far ahead. What did you have in mind?"

Revan pursed her lips. "Well, he hasn't really seen much of the outside world, I'm thinking. He's never been off Telos before it was destroyed, and he was probably sequestered at the Academy. It's my thought that we could take him along, and even be point man, when we go talk to these informants."

Carth raised his brows. "It's true that he could use a little experience. And he'd hate feeling useless."

"A trait he shares with you."

"Heh. And his face isn't as well known as ours. I think it could work. He'd probably jump at the chance."

"It's a plan, then." Revan went to pick up a datapad from the pile on the other bunk, skimming through it.

Carth wrapped his arms around her waist and plucked the pad from her hand. "Do you really need to start on that so soon?" he breathed into her ear.

"I suppose it could wait..." Revan gave him a slow smile.

The datapad was dropped back onto the rest of the notes, unregarded, for a time.


	19. Reminiscences

**Chapter 19: Reminiscences**

"Wow. I'll never get used to all these trees, no matter how many times I've seen them, Big Z," Mission said, staring up at the giants of Kashyyyk.

They stood once more on the loading platform of the former Czerka outpost, the difference being that Wookiees patrolled alertly along the walkway now, not slavers.

The Wookiee guard nodded respectfully at Revan and the others when he saw them walk down the ramp of the _Ebon Hawk_. He gave them a welcoming howl.

Zaalbar threw wide his arms and took in a huge breath of the earthy air. He growled.

"It's good to be home, isn't it, Zaalbar?" Revan laughed. She cocked her head as Zaalbar chuffed at her. "Invite us to your village? Uh, are you sure we wouldn't be imposing on Freyyr's hospitality?"

"Aw, come on, Revan! They'd probably throw a feast for you, and there'll be music and stuff!" Mission bounced and tugged coaxingly on Revan's arm.

Zaalbar howled reassuringly. The Wookiee guard interjected his own howl in agreement.

Revan looked at Carth. "What do you think?"

Dustil had gone off a little ways, staring up at the trees, looking awestruck.

Carth looked over at his son and smiled. "I think it'd be a good learning experience for Dustil, at least." He turned to Zaalbar. "If you're sure Freyyr won't mind?"

Zaalbar shook his head. He waved a giant hand, beckoning them to go with him.

"Thanks, Zaalbar. I could take the opportunity to convince Freyyr to allow a few humans to come and teach your people on how to defend yourselves from the likes of Czerka and the Sith." Revan tucked her arm in Carth's. Carth tugged gently on his son.

Zaalbar grunted. He picked up Mission and set her on his shoulders.

"Oh, it's true your people can defend yourselves just fine, but certain tactics work better than others, and would cost less lives," Revan went on cheerfully.

They walked along the wooden walkway, listening to Revan burble on excitedly.

*** * ***

The sound of Freyyr's bellows split the air.

Feminine growls, much higher in pitch but no less loud, followed closely.

Carth looked on, amused, from where he sat cross-legged on a woven mat with Mission and Zaalbar, who were tinkering with some communications equipment.

Dustil sat nearby, frowning in concentration as he cleaned his blaster pistols.

Revan was arguing with Freyyr in his own language, which had disconcerted the old Wookiee no end. He had gotten used to it quite quickly, though, as Revan took every opportunity to browbeat the chieftain into accepting her proposals.

Freyyr had not been as accepting of her ideas to bring a few outsiders in to defend Kashyyyk as Mission and Zaalbar had so blithely assumed. He had soon lost the awe he held Revan in for freeing the Wookiees from Czerka's clutches, refusing to allow anyone else to land in the port.

Zaalbar had tried to convince his father of the wisdom of Revan's plans, to no avail.

So far, though, Revan had been able to wear down Freyyr's resistance as persistently as water wearing down a rock. Freyyr had been worn down enough to allow the staff, who'd be helping Mission with the port, to land.

Carth could have told Freyyr how futile his resistance was. He nearly laughed when Freyyr jumped to his feet, and so did Revan. They made a most comical picture: the Wookiee looming over the small woman from his great height, and Revan, totally unintimidated by his size, had stepped up close to shake a finger into Freyyr's furry face.

Not that she could reach that high up. She barely came up to his navel as it was. If Wookiees had navels.

"Hey, Zaalbar, do Wookiees have navels? Or is that too personal a question?" Carth asked.

Mission gave him a funny look, pausing in the act of reaching for a tool. "That's a really weird question to ask, Carth."

Zaalbar chuffed, not looking up from the diagnostic tool he was running over the console.

"He says Wookiees do have navels," Mission translated. "Why're you asking?"

"I'm wondering if Revan even reaches that high on Freyyr," Carth explained.

Mission looked at the two, who were still going at it, hammer and tongs. She grinned. "Just barely, but yeah. They look hilarious, don't they? Like a gizka facing down a rancor."

"And I think the gizka's winning," Dustil put in. He had finished cleaning the blaster and reholstered it.

"I think you're right, son." Carth smiled.

Zaalbar roared triumphantly as the satellite lit up, powering on successfully.

Mission whooped. "We did it! Now we've only got three more left to fix!" She hopped to her feet. "These'll go a long way to help us watch out for those Czerka or Sith freaks. I'll go bring in the next one."

"I'll help you, Mission," Dustil said, climbing to his feet.

"Me, too." Carth also rose to his feet.

"Thanks!" Mission ran to the small pile of satellites that had been piled just outside Freyyr's home. They had found them all in various states of repair, or disrepair, in Czerka storage rooms.

Revan had planned to set up a network of the satellites all around Kashyyyk, to give advance warning of any ships approaching the planet.

They carried the next satellite in gingerly. Despite its small and compact size, it was quite heavy. At least Wookiee-sized doorways accomodated it with room to spare.

Mission puffed. "This'd go a lot faster if T3-M4 were here. Or even HK-47." She flopped back down and opened panels.

"Yeah, too bad T3-M4's needed to help clean up the Fleet's computer systems," Dustil said as he peered over Mission's shoulder curiously.

"It was awfully nice of Revan to offer his help to Fleet Security's computer team," Mission said absently.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I wouldn't mind if HK-47 were here, either. He'd help translate for me," Carth said, wiping his hands on his trousers.

"Even if he kept calling you 'Commodore Meatbag'?" Mission said, grinning.

"Yeah. At least he's polite enough to use my title," Carth replied, grinning back.

Revan and Freyyr were still going at it, making no indication they had even noticed their activities.

Carth shook his head. "Anybody want caffa? We're out here, so I'm going back to pick up another canister from the ship."

"Yeah, okay," Mission said absently. She waved a hand at him. "Hey, Dustil, mind holding this bit for me for a sec?" she asked, holding up a large box that was festooned with wires and cables. Dustil scrambled to help.

Carth stepped out the door, walking past Wookiees who were leaning on the rails as they listened in amusement to the 'discussion' Revan and Freyyr were having. He smiled. It was probably the best entertainment the Wookiees had had in ages. He'd swear there were even a few making bets, as they whispered together in a corner.

He walked up the ramp to the village gates, nodding at the Wookiee on guard, who nodded politely back. His status as Revan's 'life mate' and fellow conspirator in the last battle with Chuundar and his Czerka allies, had earned him the right to wander the village and the Great Walkway freely.

He flushed a little at the idea of himself as Revan's anything, but he thought it was getting a little more comfortable.

He checked his blades and armor out of habit, before rounding the corner, out of sight of the village. The Wookiees had stepped up their patrols on the Walkway, keeping it clear of kinrath and other dangerous beasts, now that Czerka was gone. They didn't have to let things go lax anymore, in the hopes that nature would take care of the meddling slavers.

Still, better to be safe than sorry. Kashyyyk could still be dangerous for the unwary, though he was confident he could handle a few kinrath on his own.

He reached the former Czerka outpost with nothing untoward happening. He looked around at the port, which showed signs that it was slowly being reorganized under Mission's direction. People bustled to and fro, loading and unloading supplies Mission and Zaalbar had bought to modernize the place.

Carth walked curiously to the portmaster's office, where orders and people were flying out purposefully. He nodded and smiled at the busy people he passed by, all of whom had a word of harried, but sincere, greeting for him.

The man at the desk turned from where he had just passed a datapad to an assistant. "Carth? Carth, what're you doing here?" he asked with a big smile on his face. He walked towards him, arms spread wide.

"Jordo!" Carth grabbed the man's shoulders and gave him a thumping hug. "I didn't know you were the portmaster!"

"Hah! You didn't? Miss Vao said you vouched for me!" Jordo said, surprised.

"Well, I did recommend you to her, but I didn't know who she had hired. I try to keep my advice to what she asks for. She hates being lectured, especially by what she calls 'old geezers'." Carth grinned.

"Hah, that sounds like her, alright! She gave me an earful when I tried to do that, and I haven't dared to do it since! But come on over, sit, sit!" Jordo said, waving Carth to a chair. He turned to his assistant. "Kelton, you take over outside, I'll be taking a short break."

The assistant nodded and went out.

"Thanks," Carth said, settling into a large chair in front of the desk.

"I gotta say, if Miss Vao's calling you an 'old geezer', I think I'd better order a pair of ocular enhancers for her, because I haven't seen you looking better," Jordo said, once they were both seated. He had pulled his chair out from behind his desk and sat next to Carth, without the barrier separating them.

"Thanks, Jordo, but I think you're just being charitable." Carth smiled.

Jordo shook his head. "Nope, I'm not. You certainly look happier than the last time I saw you, back on Tatooine." He looked hesitant and uncomfortable. "Did you... did you find your boy?"

Carth gave him a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I did. Thanks to you."

Jordo waved away his thanks. "You didn't look too thankful back then, Carth. In fact, it looked as if I had sucker punched you and gave you a kick in the nuts for good measure."

Carth rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, I'm thanking you properly now. The news did hit me hard. If you hadn't told me... Dustil's here with me, by the way. If I'd known you were here, I would've brought him along to say hello."

Jordo beamed. "He's with you? I guess you two have reconciled, or some such?"

Carth grimaced. "I wouldn't say reconciled, exactly. Not yet, but... we're getting there. We're, we're back to getting to know each other."

Jordo nodded sympathetically and put a comforting hand on Carth's shoulder. "If you're as stubborn as you used to be, I'd say it's just a matter of time."

Carth laughed and thumped Jordo's shoulder playfully. "Hah, thanks, Jordo."

Jordo got up and rummaged in his desk. "I've been saving this for the proper occasion, and I can't think of a better time than now... ah, here we go!" He held up a dusty bottle of brandy triumphantly. He went to a cabinet and brought two glasses to the desk. He poured two generous measures into the glasses and handed one to Carth.

"Here's to finding your son!" Jordo said, raising his brandy in a toast.

Carth smiled and toasted his friend back, before sipping the brandy appreciatively.

"So does it have anything to do with that pretty lady I saw you with?" Jordo asked after sipping his own drink.

"Yeah. She's the one who brought us together..." Carth smiled a little dreamily.

Jordo smiled at the look on Carth's face. The man was in love, it was obvious to anyone who had eyes. It was an expression he recognized, one he had seen on his own face when he had met his wife.

Carth sipped his brandy. "It... um, wasn't easy, getting my son back. But she kept at it, and at me... I owe her so much."

Jordo nodded. A few scattered news reports he had seen written about his friend came together with a few facts... "Carth... is it true that she's... Revan? Um, _the_ Revan?"

Carth's eyes sharpened and turned wary. "Yes, she's Revan. _The_ Revan. Do you have a problem with that?" The warmth in his voice had cooled a trifle.

Jordo held up his hands and shook them. "No, no, not me, Carth. I mean... Malak's the one who ordered Telos to be bombed, not her. And even though she's indirectly responsible, she's made up for it since. I mean, you lost a lot more than I did, and it looks like you've forgiven her. Who am I to say anything?"

Carth stared at him, assessing and appraising him and his words with a focus that was almost detached. Jordo felt his heart chill a little under that clinical gaze. It had all the warmth of being scanned and locked into a blaster reticle. He didn't know what Carth saw in his face, but he relaxed when Carth nodded.

"I'm glad you think that way, Jordo. Not everyone does," Carth said. He remembered to smile. His face darkened after a moment. "A lot more think she should be punished for what she can't even remember, when she punishes herself worse than anything they could possibly come up with." He knocked back his brandy in one gulp.

Jordo nodded. "Many of our fellow Telosians, I'm ashamed to say, are a part of that 'they' you're talking about."

Carth's hand clenched tightly on his glass, threatening to crush it. "Well, they'll just have to get through me, first."

Jordo decided this was a good time to change the subject. "So, ah, you'll invite me, right?"

Carth looked perplexed at the question. "To what?"

Jordo laughed. "'To what?' he asks. To the wedding, you fool!"

Carth blushed. "Is it so obvious?"

"It'd be obvious even if I were blind and deaf, and I'm neither!" Jordo grinned.

Carth shifted in his seat and toyed with his empty glass. Jordo poured some more brandy into it. "I'm... uh, waiting for the right moment."

Jordo smiled. "You've done it before, Carth. I remember how nervous you were, the first time."

Carth rubbed his neck. "I know, but practice doesn't seem to make it any easier. I mean, I never thought I'd ever, you know... find something so precious, ever again." His face softened. "I never knew such an amazing woman even existed in this universe. Or that... she'd love me."

Jordo chuckled. "I know. And then when you finally figured out you love her, I bet it hit you like a ton of permacrete."

Carth grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, exactly like that."

"You always did need a good blow to the head to get a new notion into your brain." Jordo's lips quirked.

"Gee, thanks." Carth punched Jordo lightly in the arm. "I didn't even know who she really was, you know, not for the longest time. Neither did she, actually. I think it worked out better that way." His smile slipped a little. "If you thought figuring out I love her hit me like a ton of permacrete... when she found out, it hit her like a crashing capital ship."

Jordo winced. "I can't even imagine what it must've been like for her."

Carth shivered a little. "Neither can I, even when I've known her for this long."

Jordo slapped Carth lightly on his arm. "Hey, I'm glad you found love again. It's not a chance many people get."

Carth's lips twitched up. "Yeah, I know. Thanks. She'd say it was the Will of the Force, that we ended up together. I don't know if it was the Force or luck, or if they're one and the same, but... I'm glad it happened."

Jordo frowned. "Uh, but she's a Jedi, isn't she? I thought they didn't, you know, get into the whole relationship thing."

Carth coughed. "Well, they don't... usually. It's kind of frowned upon, but they don't force people apart, if a Jedi does get involved. She marched straight up to the Council, bold as you please, and practically gave them an ultimatum." He shook his head at the memory. "I don't think I could've done the same."

Jordo grinned. "Sounds like you've found yourself a real scrapper, Carth."

Carth laughed. "If you think I'm stubborn, you should talk to her. She winkled everything out of me in the first few days after I met her, as smoothly as any inquisitor in Republic Intelligence. Stuff I hadn't even talked about to, well, anyone."

Jordo chuckled. "I'd like to meet her again. She sounds like one hell of a woman."

"That she is. Have you seen the recordings of the victory celebrations after the Star Forge was destroyed?" Carth asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Remember seeing a Mandalorian in our group?"

"Yeah, big guy. Looked mean and all scarred, like a rancor in human flesh. I can't believe you traveled with him and you two are still alive." Jordo shook his head in amazement.

Carth chuckled. "It was touch and go a few times, but Revan's as good a diplomat and mediator as she is an interrogator. I'm proud to call Canderous a friend, actually, hard as it is to believe. Me, a Republic soldier, and him, a Mandalorian. Anyway, would you believe she challenged him to a duel? And she won?"

Jordo stared in total disbelief at Carth. "Get outta here." He looked at Carth's serious face. "You're joking. Right? But I remember what she looks like! She only comes up to your shoulder!"

Carth shook his head. "You haven't seen her fight, Jordo. She moves like greased lightning, and that's just how she normally moves. You wouldn't even be able to see her if she used the Force to speed herself up."

"Then she must've used the Force in this duel you're talking about."

"No, she didn't. She gave her word she wouldn't use her powers in the duel, and she kept it. There was another Jedi watching with us, and she said she didn't."

Jordo looked amazed. "Wow. And... she won?"

Carth nodded. "She still got beat up pretty bad, but yeah. Made Canderous sit up and take notice after that."

Jordo shook his head. "You're a lucky man, Carth. A very lucky man."

Carth smiled. "That's the conclusion I've come to, too."

Jordo held up his glass. "To absent friends. And to new ones."

Carth raised his glass solemnly. "Hear, hear." He drained his glass in one swallow, and stood. "I promised the others I'd bring back some caffa from the ship. They're probably wondering where I've been all this time. Thanks for the talk and the drinks, Jordo."

"Hey, you're welcome back any time, Carth. Bring that lovely lady along." Jordo stood and walked with Carth to the entrance.

"It's safe enough for you to visit the village, too, Jordo. That's where I'm staying. Revan's browbeaten Freyyr into letting the staff come and go as they please." Carth clapped a hand on Jordo's shoulder.

"Somehow I'm not surprised she was able to get someone three times her size to concede something, from all you've told me. I'll be too busy organizing things here for the next few days to come, but I'll be able to visit after that." Jordo thumped Carth lightly on the back.

"See you then, Jordo, if not sooner." Carth waved and headed to the _Ebon Hawk_.


	20. Concealment

**Chapter 20: Concealment**

"Hold _still_, dammit!"

"It _itches_!"

"If you don't want to look like a psychotic clown, you'll hold _still_. And don't talk!"

Carth sighed and kept himself from reaching up to scratch his face. He made himself stop fidgeting, keeping his hands firmly on the holo table in the _Ebon Hawk_. Revan made a few more mysterious dabs and stood back, looking satisfied.

Revan peered at him, looking at his face from all angles. "There! Now give it a few minutes to set, and for the Force's sake, don't touch it."

"How come I have to get all the cosmetic treatments, and you don't?" Carth complained plaintively.

"I'm easier to disguise. Can I help it if your handsome face has been plastered all over the galaxy?" Revan smirked.

"So have yours!" Carth crossed his arms on his chest, disgruntled.

"Yes, but with a new hairdo, a bit of dye and some make-up, I look totally different. I still have 'cosmetic treatments', as you call them. It's just that they're easier to apply." Revan grinned smugly. She held up a mirror. "Here's the new you!"

Carth stared into the mirror. A total stranger looked back at him.

Revan had had him dye his skin, so that he was now olive-complexioned. His hair color had been darkened to a brown so deep, it was almost black. He wore contacts that made his eyes a bright emerald green.

A long scar stretched from his right temple down his cheekbone to his neck, disappearing into his collar. A trail of white hairs marked the false scar's progress up his scalp.

There was another scar that crossed his left cheek. It pulled up the corner of his mouth slightly, giving the impression of a permanent sneer. Both scars stood out starkly against his now-darkened skin.

"The very picture of a handsome thug, if I do say so myself." Revan smiled proudly at her handiwork.

Dustil looked in on them. "Whoa. I wouldn't want to meet you in a dark alley, Father."

"I really do look different, don't I?" Carth traced his new scars with a finger, turning his head this way and that.

"A real man wouldn't rub at his scars," Revan said disapprovingly.

Carth dropped his hand as if it had been burned. "Insulting my manhood again, huh?" He grinned.

"You look really evil when you do that, Father," Dustil commented as he stared at Carth.

"All to the good, hey? Goodbye respectable Republic Fleet officer Carth Onasi, hello brutish thug Nasi," Revan said.

Carth arched an eyebrow. "That's my new identity? Nasi?"

"Easy to remember, no?"

Carth had to admit that it was.

"What's mine?" Dustil asked curiously.

"Stiller. If you don't like it, you can still change it before I make up your identity papers."

Dustil mouthed the name to himself, rolling it on his tongue. "Stiller... it's got a nice ring to it. 'Stiller' it is."

Carth inspected his son. His son's appearance hadn't changed much, save that he was now a blonde, and he wore contacts that gave him ice-blue eyes.

"Now that you're here, Dustil, why don't you two tell me if my own disguise is adequate?" Revan asked. She straightened up for their inspection.

Dustil and Carth looked appraisingly at her. Revan's hair had grown out during the two months since the Star Forge, so that it now reached to the middle of her back. She had threaded tiny, brightly-colored beads through the strands, making it seem like she had the galaxy glittering in her hair.

She wore typical spacer clothes, with a vest covered in pockets over a white undertunic, and baggy trousers that were also covered with pockets. Carth knew for a fact that her lightsabers were concealed in the hip pouches meant for holding blaster power cartridges.

A pair of Verpine ocular enhancers covered her eyes, but she also wore contacts, ones that made her eyes a stormy gray color. Her skin had also been dyed, so that it now had a golden hue, reminiscent of honey.

"You look great. But then, you always look great," Carth said appreciatively as he looked her up and down. He thought she looked good enough to eat, but he certainly wasn't going to say that in front of Dustil.

"Thanks, but I was asking if I looked any different from my usual honest and reputable Jedi self," Revan said dryly.

"You're only 'honest and reputable' if you haven't scammed someone for all their credits at Pazaak," Carth replied.

Revan mimed a blow at him. "Nobody likes a sore loser, flyboy. Anyway, I'll take that as a 'yes'."

Dustil nodded. "No one's going to think you're a Jedi. You look too, um, grubby."

"Grubby!" Revan exclaimed indignantly. She poked Dustil, who dodged away from her fingers, grinning.

Carth laughed. "Come on, let's go see if Mission and Zaalbar recognize us."

Revan shook her head. "I've still got to put together our new identity papers, so you two go on ahead." She waved the two men off before heading to the starboard quarters.

Dustil and Carth walked down the ramp of the _Ebon Hawk_, heading for the portmaster's office, where Mission had taken over. Jordo had gone with their newly-hired ship mechanic, Matton, to inspect the Czerka ships that hadn't been able to escape during the Wookiee insurrection.

Carth found Mission tapping busily away on the computer. He walked up and tapped her on the shoulder.

Mission turned around, then leapt back, hand going to her blaster. "What--who the hell are _you_?"

Carth laughed. "It's me, Mission, Carth!"

Mission gaped. "Carth?" She looked him up and down. "Wow. You look so, um, dangerous!" She relaxed. "You'd look right at home in the Lower City, beating the hell out of an innocent bystander. Not that there are a lot of innocent anythings in the Lower City."

Carth chuckled. "Thanks. I think. It's all Revan's doing."

"She's really good at the disguise work, I gotta say." Mission suddenly looked downcast. "I guess this means you guys are leaving soon?"

Carth put his hands comfortingly on Mission's shoulders. "Yeah, I'm sorry, Mission. But it's time we got moving on those missions the Order gave us. Well, to Revan. And every day we stay we risk those assassins finding out where we are."

A Wookiee roared in fury behind Carth. He was picked up bodily and shaken.

"Zaalbar!" Carth cried as his head tossed back and forth.

"Zaalbar, stop!" Dustil put a hand to his blaster, uncertain as to whether or not he should pull it out.

"No, no, Zaalbar, it's Carth!" Mission shouted. She tugged on Zaalbar's harness.

Zaalbar put Carth back down. He shuffled his feet and rubbed the back of his neck. He growled softly and hung his head.

"He says he's sorry. He didn't know it was you... he thought you had grabbed me and was about to beat me up or something," Mission translated. She put her hands to her mouth, hiding her smile.

Dustil took his hands off his blasters and vented a relieved laugh.

Carth wobbled to Mission's chair and sat. "Uh, I'll be sure to tell Revan how convincing my disguise is."

"You don't have to tell me, I saw," Revan said from the doorway. She was grinning from ear to ear.

"Well, you sure look concerned for me," Carth said sarcastically.

"I was all ready with a Force stasis!" Revan said contritely. "Really!"

Carth looked unconvinced. "Uh-huh."

Jordo ran in, blaster in hand. "Hey, Miss Vao, Kelton said a Wookiee was roaring in here, is everything all right?" He stared around, passing over Dustil and Revan, until his eyes lit on Carth. "Who's this? Is he the one making trouble?"

The others burst into laughter. "Jordo, put down that blaster. It's me," Carth said, amused.

Jordo's eyes bulged. "Carth? For crying out loud... you look like you should be on the Republic's top five Most Wanted list!"

Carth grinned. "I know. Pretty good disguise, huh?"

"Well, it sure fooled me. Well, if there's nothing happening here, I'll be going back to the hangars," Jordo said, reholstering his blaster. He gave them all a wave before leaving.

"Carth said you guys are leaving soon... is that true?" Mission asked anxiously.

Revan nodded. "I'm afraid so. We need to get started. Every day the _Thanatos_ is making raids, and we imperil Kashyyyk."

"We'd fight for you, Revan, and Freyyr would help! We'd kick assassin butt!" Mission cried. Zaalbar roared agreement.

Revan hugged Mission. "I know. And that's why we have to go. This isn't your fight, or Zaalbar's or Freyyr's. I have no right to endanger you or Kashyyyk. Besides, even if we do stay, we wouldn't be stopping the Sith raids. And I still have the diplomatic mission to do."

"Are you sure you can't stay a little longer? Just a little?" Mission asked, looking ready to cry. "We've still got a lot to do here, and you could help us!"

Revan shook her head. "Now, Mission, any work you still have to do can be done by your staff. I've already convinced Freyyr to let the new people come here and install some heavy-duty defenses. They'll teach the Wookiees how to use them."

"We'll miss you guys." Mission hugged Revan tightly. "When're you leaving?"

"Tomorrow, at first light. And we'll miss you, too!" Revan said, smiling.

"I won't miss the 'old geezer' comments, though," Carth put in, grinning.

"Oh, you, you nerf-herder!" Mission sputtered, but she hugged Carth.

Carth hugged Mission, patting her back. "Okay, maybe I will miss them. I'll miss you, too, kid."

Zaalbar growled and clapped his hands on Revan's and Carth's shoulders.

"What? Another feast--Zaalbar, we've imposed too much already. I'm sure your father's ready to see the back of me." Revan shook her head.

Zaalbar shook his own head and chuffed.

Mission clung to Revan's arm. "Yeah, you gotta stay until tomorrow, anyway. We gotta throw you a farewell party!" She looked much happier at the prospect.

"But it's not necessary, Mission..." Revan protested.

"I'm in charge here, and I say it is!" Mission stamped her foot.

Carth laughed. "It looks like we've got another party to attend. I don't think Mission'll let us off planet unless we go."

Revan's lips twitched. "Looks like it. Alright, Mission, you win. But make sure you warn the Wookiees about us, okay?"

"Warn them about what?" Mission asked, perplexed.

"About our disguises. Or Carth'll get shot the minute he walks through the gates," Revan answered. She grinned at Carth.

Carth rolled his eyes. "Yeah, this disguise you gave me is too good."

*** * ***

"Are you sure you can't stay longer?" Mission asked plaintively, for the third time that morning.

They were standing at the ramp of the _Ebon Hawk_. This time Mission, Zaalbar, Jordo and even Freyyr had come along to see Revan, Carth and Dustil off.

Revan hugged Mission and Zaalbar. "I'd love to, you know that. But we have to go and get started on these missions. But it doesn't mean we can't see each other anymore! We could always come after we've finished, and now that you've liberated those Czerka ships, you can visit us anytime, too!"

"You and Zaalbar are welcome to come visit anytime, Mission. The local cantinas wouldn't be the same without you two making trouble and knocking heads." Carth grinned.

Mission and Zaalbar laughed. "Hey, you could always go with Revan and Dustil and have a bar brawl or fifty. You can still knock heads pretty good yourself. For a geezer." Mission smiled impishly.

Carth drew himself up and put on a dignified and haughty expression. He looked down his nose at the Twi'lek scoundrel. "I am a _respectable_ retired officer now. I do not _brawl_ in _bars_." His pose collapsed when he squirmed away, laughing, from both Mission's and Revan's poking fingers.

"Like you look like a respectable anything in that disguise. At least you're not a _portly_ retired officer. At least, not yet!" Mission giggled.

"I'll be keeping him _much_ too busy for him to run to fat, Mission." Revan smirked. She gave Mission and Zaalbar one last hug.

Freyyr stepped up to Revan and tried to hand her a small bag of credits. He growled.

"What? No, I can't accept this, Freyyr! If you must give credits to anyone, give it to Mission and Zaalbar. They know best what Kashyyyk and your people need." Revan pushed the bag gently back to Freyyr. "Unless this is a bribe to make me shut up." She grinned up at the chieftain.

Freyyr laughed. He chuffed.

Carth nudged Mission. "What's he saying?" Dustil stepped close to listen.

"He wanted to give Revan a bunch of credits as a reward, for teaching Zaalbar, making him come back and helping us with the port," Mission translated. "Now he's saying he's never met a more stubborn person, and that he's never seen an outsider so concerned for those who aren't her own kind."

Carth grinned. "Ah, so I'm not the only one who thinks she's the most stubborn woman in the galaxy."

"I heard that, flyboy! Anyway, Freyyr, thank you for your hospitality, and for putting up with my arguing. It's been an honor." Revan bowed deeply to the Wookiee chieftain. Freyyr also bowed.

Jordo stepped up to Carth. "Well, I guess it's goodbye again. You come on back this way when you're done with your work, okay?"

Carth took Jordo's hand and shook it. "You can count on it, Jordo." Dustil shook hands with Jordo as well.

They walked up the ramp, Carth and Revan heading for the cockpit, Dustil trailing behind them.

"It's entirely too quiet on the ship now that Mission and Zaalbar aren't here," Revan observed.

Carth nodded as he started running preflight checks. "I know what you mean. I'll miss Mission's laughter and Zaalbar's snoring."

Revan laughed.

Carth took the _Ebon Hawk_ up slowly, watching the shrinking dots of Mission, Freyyr, Zaalbar and Jordo waving to them. He flashed the running lights in a goodbye salute and took the ship up through the atmosphere into space.

"I'll get some caffa. I know you get all cranky like a rancor with a bad tooth when you don't get your first mug of the morning," Revan said as she got up from the co-pilot's seat.

Carth flashed her a grin. He listened as she started playing her pipe in the holo room, inputting the hyperspace coordinates for the Outer Rim with half of his attention.

He thought back to the first time Revan had ever played and sang for him, long ago and far away, back on Taris.

_ Carth sat at the workbench in their apartment in the Upper City of Taris, putting together his blaster pistol, adding an energy cell and a scope. They had 'liberated' them from some people who had tried to kill him and Revan. Losers, weepers. He carefully cleaned the barrel as he listened to Revan sing an old Twi'lek lullaby to Mission. _

_ Mission Vao had been dead on her feet by the time they had come back to their hideout from a fun-filled day in the sewers, though the young scoundrel would never admit it. The worry of losing Zaalbar to Gamorrean slavers, her relief at getting him back and the fights with Gamorreans and rakghouls in the sewers had combined to totally exhaust her. _

_ Revan stood, satisfied that Mission was sleeping peacefully on one of the pallets. She nodded at Zaalbar, who chuffed quietly his agreement that he would watch over Mission. Revan turned towards the door. _

_ "Where're you going?" Carth asked Revan softly, careful not to wake Mission. _

_ "To the roof, to get some air. I'd like to clear my lungs of sewer stench," Revan said, just as softly. "You can come along if you like, Onasi. I might be sending secret messages to the Sith up there if you don't watch me." She smiled sourly and continued to walk to the door. _

_ Carth's mouth twisted as he put the last piece together on his blaster. Revan only used his last name when she was annoyed with him, and she had been using it quite a lot in the last few days. He got up from the bench and followed her. "Look, I said it wasn't anything personal--" _

_ "Enough." Revan cut curtly through his protest. "Come or not, as you like. Although I wonder if you can admire the wonderful Tarisian skyline when you've got your head stuffed up your ass." She turned on her heel and went through the door. _

_ Carth found Revan sitting on the tall hood of a ventilation shaft when he arrived on the roof. The darkness hid the faded and shabby beauty of the city, making it look more elegant than it would have in the broad day. _

_ "Slow, Onasi. I could've sent a dozen love letters to Malak by now. 'We've nearly got Bastila. Please send reinforcements and someone to blast this bloody annoying soldier who is bloody well getting on my bloody nerves. Love and kisses'," Revan said sarcastically when she turned to Carth. _

_ Carth sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he sat down on another ventilation hood. The two locks on his forehead fell back down. "You seem... sincere enough, I guess. I just don't trust easily, and for good reasons... which are my own." _

_ Revan frowned at Carth. "But you already trust, Onasi, whether you admit it or not. Do you not trust the engineers who built the ships you flew as a pilot? Your commanding officers to send you where you can do the most good, where you won't die needlessly? Me, to watch your back in a fight? _

_ "You have to give your trust sometime, Onasi. You're a soldier, you know what could happen if there's even a second's worth of hesitation at the right time. Or the wrong time. Everything could hinge on that second, costing you, me--everything." Revan sighed when Carth didn't say anything. _

_ "Me and my partner couldn't have done half the things we did if we hadn't given each other our absolute trust," Revan said after a few moments. _

_ Carth seized on the change of subject with both hands. "Partner?" he asked, hoping he sounded nonchalant. From the jaundiced look Revan gave him, she was well aware of his desire to forestall her inevitable questions. He was also quite curious to know more about this extremely capable woman who had fallen, literally, into his lap. _

_ "Yeah. I had a partner in my smuggling missions. I was as bad as my mother when it came to business sense, so my partner handled all of the accounting, currency exchange, port fees, territorial jurisdictions... you know, all the red tape. I handled the talking, haggling, lockpicking and computer hacking, all the hands-on stuff he was a total clutz at." Revan looked fondly into the middle distance at her memories. _

_ "What happened to him?" Carth asked. "Were you two... close?" He suppressed an irrational twinge of jealousy. _

_ Revan sighed again and rubbed at her brow. "No, not in that way, if you're asking if we were lovers. He liked his bedmates tall, dark--and male." _

_ "Oh." Carth blushed. He hoped it was dark enough outside to hide it, but judging from the smirk Revan gave him, it wasn't. A slow, malicious smile crossed her face. _

_ "In fact... I think you would've been just his type. Knowing him, he would've propositioned you the moment he saw you all alone in the escape pod." Revan's wicked smile broadened when she saw him blush even redder. _

_ Revan's smile faded. "Just as well, really. Our partnership worked out quite successfully. Too many working partnerships I've seen were ruined when sex got in the way of business." _

_ Revan's face grew pensive with thought and sorrow. "You know, he told me once that he wanted to die with a bottle of Corellian brandy in one hand, and someone else's husband in the other. Preferably his own. I wish I could've given him that. Instead, he got crisped in the gun turret by a lucky shot when we were chased by a squadron of Sith fighters. They wanted to use us for target practice, I guess. _

_ "I used to pour a glass of Corellian brandy on his grave every year. Although he'd probably tell me it was a waste of good liquor. Anyway, the Republic would never have caught up with me if he'd still been alive," Revan said thoughtfully. _

_ "I suppose it was going to happen sooner or later, anyway, I guess. The stabilizers were held together with nothing but hope and spit. So I was made an offer I couldn't refuse when I was finally captured: help break the Sith blockade or look forward to some jail time. _

_ "Which is how I came to be stuck here on this miserable excuse for a planet with Sith, rakghouls and swoop gangs after my skin, trying to find some Jedi chick. All 'cause of this troublemaking paranoid pilot. My mother always said, 'Never work for the government. They'll work you hard and then tax you to death.'" Revan gave Carth a dry look. _

_ Carth gave Revan a half-hearted chuckle. _

_ Revan's expression turned serious. "What could've happened to you? Who or what could have taken away all of your trust like this?" she asked softly. _

_ Carth didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything. He was staring at his own memories, now. They played through his mind, relentlessly, like a bad holo he couldn't shut off. _

Click. _ Telos, in ruins. He had been able to see the smoke obscuring the face of the once-glittering jewel of a planet even from space. _

Click. _ The utter devastation of his home. Rubble and the naked girders of buildings stabbed up at the smoke-filled sky like the ribs of dead giants. _

Click. _ His wife, with terrible wounds all over her body, as she died in his arms. _

Click. _ His panic when he couldn't find Dustil anywhere. He had searched frantically, for days, his hands bloody and torn from scrabbling desperately at the mountainous piles of debris when he thought he heard his son's voice crying out to him. _

_ Revan looked at the emotions flickering across Carth's face. At the hands he kept clenching and unclenching on his knees as he stared sightlessly into space. At the slight tremors that shook his tense shoulders and arms. _

_ Carth came back out from his memories at the touch of a hand brushing along his jaw. He saw Revan looking at him with concern and worry in her eyes. _

"In the moonlight I felt your heart  
quiver like a bowstring's pulse  
In the moon's pale light  
you looked at me  
Nobody knows your heart

When the sun has gone  
I see you beautiful and haunting  
but cold  
Like the blade of a knife  
so sharp, so sweet  
Nobody knows your heart

All of your sorrow, grief and pain  
locked away in the forests of the night  
Your secret heart belongs to the world  
of the things that sigh in the dark,  
of the things that cry in the dark."

_ Revan looked at Carth uncertainly when she finished her song. It had poured out of her, from her heart, spontaneously, when she couldn't bear the pain she saw in his eyes anymore. She shifted around on her seat until she stood up, when he didn't say anything. _

_ Revan made to leave, but stopped when she heard Carth speak. He spoke so softly she had to strain her ears to hear him. She sat back down on the ventilation hood, leaning forward to hear him more clearly. _

_ "When I think of all the men who have betrayed us, the one that stands out above them all is the one I respected the most. Saul. Saul Karath's the commander of the entire Sith fleet. He's half the reason Malak has done so well in the war. _

_ "Saul was my commanding officer back when the Mandalorian Wars first began. He taught me everything about being a soldier... and I looked up to him," Carth said in a low, tense voice. _

_ "Saul approached me before he left. He talked to me about how the Republic was on the losing side... and about how I should start thinking of my survival. _

_ "I know now that he was trying to recruit me into the Sith, but I couldn't have conceived of it back then. I argued with him and he got angry and he left. I never saw him again." Carth took in a large gulp of air. His fists opened and closed. _

_ "You didn't think he would betray the Republic?" Revan asked softly, carefully, so that she wouldn't interrupt his train of thought. Or the outpouring of his pain. _

_ "Saul was my mentor... he led us to so many victories against the Mandalorians, even when things looked to be at their worst. I just... I couldn't conceive of it. He... he couldn't be serious. I was wrong, of course... he not only left us for the Sith, he... he gave them the codes to bypass our scanners. _

_ "I remember waking up as the first of the Sith bombers snuck past our defenses and began destroying half of our docked ships. I knew right away what had happened. I... could have stopped him. I could have stopped it all." _

_ Revan saw a muscle jump in his jaw and the knuckles of his fists turn white. "Do you really believe that?" she asked in a small voice, after a few moments. _

_ "I don't know. Maybe. He might have killed me if I'd tried, or I might have killed him. I was stupid, however, and I let him go," Carth said hoarsely. His shoulders slumped, suddenly looking utterly tired. _

_ "I've fought Saul for years, now, and if I ever catch up to him... he will _regret_ what he's done. _He will regret it_," Carth said in a growling voice full of suppressed rage. His hands opened and curled into claws, as if he envisioned strangling Saul Karath with them. _

_ Revan took in her own steadying breath. "That's terrible. I... feel awful for you." _

_ Carth glanced up at her. He had almost forgotten she was there. "Well... there's more to the story, I guess." He hunched his shoulders and scrubbed at his face with his hands. "But I don't want to talk about it right now." _

_ Revan's heart nearly broke when she saw his grief-stricken face. Her hand went automatically to the inner pocket of her combat suit, brushing on the pipe she always carried near her heart. _

_ Music had kicked the issue of his distrust out into the open... maybe it could help him, just a little. It was worth a try. _

_ Carth's head lifted from his hands at the sound of the pipe being blown experimentally in Revan's hands. He blinked at her. _

_ Revan smiled at Carth. "Enough of this maudlin reminiscing. We're going to get Bastila back tomorrow, aren't we? We should... we should celebrate, just a little." She lifted the pipe to her mouth, ignoring the frown Carth sent her. She played a slow melody that soon turned into a fast, toe-tapping tune. She clicked the heel of her foot in time to the music. _

_ Carth found himself tapping a foot to the tune, too. He watched Revan, sitting with her eyes closed, her fingers flashing along her pipe, lit only by the stars and the lights of the city. _

_ And realized just how truly beautiful she was. How had she had done it? How had she insinuated herself into his heart, when he thought he didn't have one to speak of, anymore? He was amazed. _

_ Revan finished the song and put away her pipe. She looked at Carth and smiled when she saw he wasn't frowning anymore. "Come on, flyboy. We've got a long day ahead of us, tomorrow, what with the swoop race and all. No, wait, I'm the one who's got a long day tomorrow. You're going to be watching the race comfortably from the monitors while I do all the work. Typical." She blew a raspberry at him. _

_ Carth had to laugh. "You're so certain you'll win, huh?" He felt the depression that weighed him down lift, just a tiny bit. _

_ Revan shrugged and stood. "It can't be any more dangerous than flying a rusting bucket of bolts disguised as a starship through an asteroid field, playing hide-and-seek with pirates on my tail." _

_ Carth snorted as he got to his feet. "With one hand tied behind your back and blindfolded, too, right?" _

_ Revan grinned at Carth. "How'd you know that? You weren't even there!" _

_ Carth could only shake his head at Revan's irrepressible spirits as he followed her back to the doorway. _

A hand trailing slowly along his jaw brought Carth out of his reverie. A hand holding a mug of caffa hove into his view. He took it and watched Revan settle herself into the co-pilot's seat.

"So what were you smiling at, flyboy, when you should've been watching where we were going, eh?" Revan asked him as she sipped at her own cup of caffa.

Carth sipped cautiously at the steaming liquid. "Oh, nothing. Just... remembering the first time you sang to me, back on Taris. And there's really nothing to do while we're in hyperspace, except look busy if someone came in."

"And you couldn't even manage that," Revan teased.

Carth smiled sheepishly. "I guess not."

Revan tilted her head to one side. "If I remember aright, I had told you you had your head stuffed up your ass."

"Yeah, well, I did. You were right. I'm glad I didn't... put you off with the way I acted, back then," Carth said slowly.

Revan's face softened. "Well, I understood once you explained things to me. And... you turned out to be right, about a lot of things, back then." She gulped down the rest of her caffa. "Anyways, I'll leave you to your thoughts now. Dustil issued me a challenge, and I can't refuse such an affront to my honor."

Carth raised an eyebrow. "Challenge you at what?"

Revan laughed. "He challenged me to a game of Pazaak. Little does he know about the killer deck I've assembled." She rubbed her hands in anticipatory glee. "Time... to clean house!"

Carth laughed. "Try not to take his shirt, too."

Revan grinned. "Not when I've got yours, Carth." She left the cockpit before he could come up with a snappy reply.

* * *

The song Revan sings to Carth is called the "Princess Mononoke Theme Song" (Mononoke-Hime), from the movie _Princess Mononoke_. Composed and arranged by Joe Hisaishi, lyrics by Hayao Miyazaki, translated from Japanese by Stephen Alpert, adapted by Neil Gaiman.

* * *

debbie-l-g, Prisoner 24601, Shadow39, VMorticia, Lord Valentai, thanks for the words of praise and encouragement! I adore reviews from everybody!

Prisoner 24601, I'll have lots more fight scenes, but one must balance action with story. Stay tuned, though!


	21. Beginning

**Chapter 21: Beginning**

Things soon settled into a routine on the _Ebon Hawk_, now registered as the _Skydancer_, as they traveled towards the Outer Rim. Carth would start Dustil on flying lessons first thing in the 'morning'. Revan took over after they finished with weapons practice in the cargo hold. Then they would all sit down at the holo table to study the OFI mission briefings during the meal hour.

After the meal, Revan would teach Dustil memorization techniques, Jedi lore and simple exercises in learning how to control the Force. Though he knew how to use the Force already, it was all based on manipulating it through negative emotions. Accomplishing the same thing with a calm mind was much harder.

He got a short break, and then it was back to Carth to learn astrogation, hyperspace mathematics and the more technical details of piloting a ship.

Dustil had thought life in the Sith Academy was hard. Now he realized he had had it easy, as he was shuttled between Carth and Revan in their desire to further his education.

It was on one such day that Dustil wobbled to the cockpit and collapsed into the co-pilot's chair.

Carth looked over at his son, who had sat down with a pained grunt. "Rough session today?"

Dustil nodded. "Revan practically beat me black and blue. She'd give me a whack every time she saw my eyes shift when I was about to make a move. I think she's getting her revenge on me for trying to kill her." He rubbed his arms.

Carth smiled sympathetically. "Better that you learn your lessons in practice rather than in real life, right?"

"I wish they didn't have to be so painful, though," Dustil said sheepishly.

"If she had really wanted to get revenge on you, she wouldn't need to do anything so physical. She'd just give you this, this _look_, and maybe say a few words that'd make you feel like the biggest core-slime in the galaxy," Carth said.

Dustil raised an eyebrow at his father, pausing in the act of rubbing his bruises. "Sounds like you speak from experience."

Carth laughed ruefully and rubbed the back of his neck. "I do."

"Um, I don't suppose you'd tell me how you met her? You said you didn't know who she really was, so I guess she didn't call herself Revan then," Dustil said.

"I would hope you don't think your old man's that clueless, son," Carth said, a smile quirking his lips.

"No, that's not what I meant..." Dustil said, shaking his head.

Carth grinned. "I know, I was just twitting you there." He sat back in his seat and thought back to that time. It seemed so long ago, it felt like another lifetime. For Revan, it _had_ been another lifetime. It was strange, but he couldn't think of Revan with her old name, anymore.

He must've been silent too long, because Dustil prompted him, a little impatiently. "Father?"

"She was a last-minute addition to the crew roster; Bastila had specifically requested that she be transferred aboard... I'd seen her a few times on the _Endar Spire_, but always from a distance, though. Bastila always had her around in her entourage. Now I know why..." Carth looked at his memories, and saw just how many coincidences there were. He shook his head.

"So Bastila knew who she really was?" Dustil asked.

"Yes. She knew the whole time and didn't tell us, any of us," Carth said. He still felt angry at that, but... it had turned out well, in the end. He said as much to Dustil. "Anyway, we arrived at Taris, straight into an ambush led by the _Leviathan_. We were completely surprised and outgunned."

Dustil looked pale. "You mean you really were almost blown up on a ship...?"

Carth nodded. "It was very close. The Sith had boarded on several decks, overwhelming us. I convinced Bastila to get to the escape pods and sent out the 'all hands' command, before getting to the pods myself. One of the soldiers helped Revan get to the starboard section, and from there I tracked her on the life support systems. She was the only one left by then.

"She took care of a few Sith all by herself, and repaired a combat droid to take out the group pinning me at the pods. I had waited for her, and I pretty much shoved her in and closed the door behind us. Another minute and we would've been blown up with the _Spire_." Carth still woke up some nights in a cold sweat, thinking about that extremely narrow escape.

"Our pod crashed into the Upper City of Taris, luckily. Or maybe it was the Force... Anyway, she was hurt pretty seriously. We'd been in such a hurry, she hadn't been strapped in properly. I was alright, so I carried her to a nearby abandoned apartment."

_ Carth watched the slight woman toss and turn. It had been two days, and she still hadn't woken up. He feared that she might never wake... He turned away, shoulders slumping in defeat, only to turn back at the cessation of noise. _

_ Her eyes were open! _

_ "Good to see you up, instead of thrashing around in your sleep," he said, starting towards her. The woman flipped off the bed and tumbled away from him in a flash. He blinked and found that he had dropped his hands to his blasters automatically at the flicker of movement. _

_ The woman was looking wildly around her, her arms raised to strike and her legs bent in a defensive crouch. She kept him always in her field of vision, he noticed. _

_ "Hey, take it easy." He moved his hands slowly away from his blasters. She relaxed a little. "I'm Carth. I was with you in the escape pod, do you remember?" _

_ The woman moved her lips silently. "Uh... Carth. The one on the communicator, yeah." She put a hand to her temple. "Oh, well, at least I've got all my clothes on this time," she muttered. _

_ Carth raised an eyebrow. "I'm glad to see you're lucid. I was afraid you'd never wake up, after two days of restless sleep, and what looked like real bad nightmares." _

_ She saw her vibroblades nearby and snatched them up. She relaxed some more, now that she was armed, and he hadn't made any hostile moves. "How did I get here?" _

_ "Our escape pod crashed into the Upper City. You were badly injured, but luckily I wasn't, so I carried you here, to this abandoned apartment. By the time the Sith arrived on the scene, we were long gone," he said. _

_ Her eyebrows flew up. She bowed deeply to him. "I guess I owe you my life. Thank you." _

_ Carth waved away her thanks. _That's a rather odd gesture. Strangely formal. Still, the Republic has all sorts._ "You don't have to thank me. I've never abandoned anyone on a mission, and I'm not about to start now." He sat down, silently inviting her to do the same. _

_ "Um, this'll sound like a really stupid question, but... I wasn't drunk, was I?" she asked him anxiously. _

_ Carth looked at her, slightly bewildered by her question. "No, not that I could see. You had just fought your way from crew quarters to the bridge to the escape pods, on the _Endar Spire_. I don't think a drunk could've done all that." _

_ "Well, thank goodness for small mercies," she muttered. She ran a hand through her hair. "Wait... I, I think I remember someone else... Trask?" She looked around, as if he were hiding behind the sparse furnishings, and would pop up any second. _

_ Carth's face turned grim and angry. "He didn't make it." She sat down abruptly on a worn chair. He saw that all the blood had drained from her face. _

_ She touched her temple again, as if she were trying to adjust the reception on a holo broadcast. "I... remember. He, he shoved me away and took on some Dark Jedi. Told me to get to the escape pods." _

_ "He was a good soldier. We lost the ship and a lot of good people... and for what? On the hope that Jedi powers would save us, somehow." He paced, as anger, frustration and helplessness warred in his heart and on his face. _

_ "All...? The whole ship? But there must've been hundreds..." She looked at him with a horrified expression on her face. _

_ Carth said nothing, but nodded. He saw that she looked sick to her stomach. _And well she should._ He felt the same way, when he let himself think about it. _

_ After a few moments of silence, she spoke. "Um, Carth?" _

_ He turned to her. "Yes?" _

_ "Where are we?" _

_ "Taris." He pointed to her datapad, where he had left it on the workbench. She took it up and started skimming rapidly through it. _

_ "I've already entered all of this into your pad, but..." He gave her all of the meager information he had gathered on Taris. _

_ She touched the fingers on one hand, each in turn, to her thumb, brow wrinkled with thought. _

_ "The Sith won't care about a couple of grunts like us, so we should be able to find Bastila without drawing too much attention to ourselves, as long as we don't do anything stupid," Carth finished. _

_ "Er... Bastila?" she asked. _

_ Carth looked up at her, surprised. She looked blank. "That smack to your head must've done more damage than I thought." She frowned at him. _

_ He told her about Bastila, watching her face carefully as he told her about how she and the Jedi had commandeered the _Endar Spire_, and his own role as an advisor for the mission. She wasn't showing any signs of recognition. _Damn. Still, it's not really that important right now.

_ He sat back down. "I saw on your service records that you understand a remarkable number of alien languages. That's pretty rare in a raw recruit, but it should come in handy while we're stranded on a foreign world." _

_ She slipped gracefully to her feet. Carth was hard put to reconcile this agile woman with the near corpse he'd carried out of the escape pod and watched over for two days. _

_ She took out a vibration cell and installed it into her vibroblade with deft, clever fingers, as she listened to him speak. Carth was impressed. Not many could tinker with an edged weapon so easily and quickly. _

_ "Well, we won't find this Jedi chick sitting on our asses. Let's go scout around," she said, as she made a few experimental passes in the air with the blade. _

_ He nodded. She wasn't the lazy sort, at least. "Good idea. We can use this place as our base. Let's move out." _

_ They stepped out the doors and straight into trouble. _

_ They watched in angry disbelief as an unarmed Duros was gunned down right before their eyes. Then the Sith turned and saw them. Revan wasn't given a chance to talk when the Sith called them Republic fugitives and tried to repeat what he'd done to the Duros on them. _

_ Revan and Carth didn't prove to be such easy targets, though. _

_ Revan ran towards the Sith, blades at her sides, ignoring the two droids, trusting in Carth to take care of them. She dodged the Sith's blaster fire easily and slid on the floor, straight in under his guard. She bent and hooked her right knee around his ankle, yanking him off his feet. He sprawled untidily onto the floor, his arms thrown wide. _

_ The last thing he ever saw was the descending tip of her vibroblade as it entered his eye, straight into his brain. _

_ She rose and gabbled with the Duros in his own tongue. He thanked her and assured them he would dispose of the bodies. She saw that Carth had blown the droids to pieces with an ion blaster. _

_ Carth helped her gather up the Sith's belongings. "Nice moves you showed back there." _

_ "I'd rather have avoided it altogether, but we didn't have a choice." She grimaced and wiped her blade on the Sith's uniform. "What a warm welcome." _

_ Carth sighed. "We can only expect more of the same." _

"So what happened on Taris?" Dustil asked.

Carth grimaced. "Better to say what didn't happen on Taris. It was one damn thing after another. Still, we did a lot of good things... not that it mattered much in the end. We had landed in the affluent part of Taris, the Upper City.

"We had to find Bastila, and all of our leads pointed to the Lower and Under City, where people were poorer and life was a lot rougher. But the Sith had put a guard on the elevator that went down there, and non-Sith weren't allowed. So we had to get our hands on some uniforms."

_ "So what's a pretty lady like you doing in a dump like this?" Yun Genda, a Sith junior officer, asked Revan. He slid closer to her. _

_ They were in the Upper City cantina, scouting out more leads on where to find Bastila. So far, all of their sources said that the rest of the escape pods had crashed into the Undercity. Unfortunately, the elevator was guarded by Sith. _

_ Revan half-lidded her eyes and leaned closer to him. "Oh, I'm a musician. Thought I'd check out the cantina, see if I could do any gigs here." _

_ "A musician, huh? You must've gotten stranded on Taris, too, like the rest of the offworlders. I'm a little surprised you decided to talk to me, what with the quarantine we imposed and all." Encouraged, he slipped his arm around her. "This place is the pits, and everyone looks at us like we're plague carriers." _

_ Carth nearly gagged into his drink as he watched Revan cozy up to the Sith scum. And now she was leaning into his arm! He tried to wash out the bad taste in his mouth with the local rotgut. _

_ He didn't know why he was so bothered by it. They both knew it was their best chance to get some Sith uniforms, to get past the slack guard at the elevator, but... He really didn't want to watch her use her 'feminine wiles' on the Sith, but someone needed to watch her back. Although with the way she could fight, she probably didn't need it. _

_ "It's all in your attitude," Revan was saying. _

_ "Exactly! You know, we could use a little cheering up back at the base. Maybe we could have you play for us," Yun said, layering meanings into his words. _

_ Revan swept her lashes down. "I could always help raise morale for you poor troopers..." She gave Yun a lazy smile, and ran a nail lightly along his arm. _

_ Yun grinned. He started to rub his hand on her arm. "You know, we've got a small party planned after our shifts are over back at my apartment. If you like, you could come on over. Here, I'll mark the location on your datapad." He tapped the location into the datapad she held out to him. "I have to go now. See you at the party!" _

_ Revan kept the smile on her face until she was sure that he had left. Then it transformed into a disgusted snarl. "Young puppy." She swept up Carth's glass from his hand and downed it in one gulp. _

_ "Hey, that was my drink!" Carth protested. He frowned at her. _

_ "I needed it more than you did. You weren't the one getting pawed. Besides, it's your own fault for not being a gentleman and buying me one." She slapped the glass more forcefully than necessary back onto the bar. _

_ "It didn't look like you were too upset with the attention," Carth said sourly. He waved at the bartender to settle his tab. _

_ "Ugh. I'm old enough to be his mother. I like my men to be a little more mature," Revan said. Carth shot her a look, but she wasn't looking at him. She poked him in the ribs. "Come on, time's awasting." _

Dustil grinned. "I bet you didn't like that one bit."

Carth chuckled. "No, I didn't. If anyone was going to be pawing her, it'd be--uh, anyway..." He coughed. "We still had to get to that damned party. Fortunately, the Sith didn't know how strong Tarisian ale was..."

_ Revan and Carth looked around, bemused, at all the collapsed bodies of the Sith party goers, lying around like corpses on a battlefield. _

_ "And I thought I was bad at handling my liquor," Revan commented as she rummaged through packs. _

_ "Tarisian ale's got a kick like a rancor. It can sneak up on you and hit you on the back of the head if you're not careful," Carth replied as he searched through the footlocker. _

_ "Speaking from experience, eh?" She held up a set of gleaming, silver armor. "Ah-hah!" _

_ Carth looked up from his search at her triumphant cry. "Only one?" _

_ "'fraid so. Better than nothing, though." She stuffed it into her own pack. She looked around thoughtfully, and started gathering up unopened bottles of ale. _

_ "Planning on a binge?" Carth asked as he watched her move around the room. _

_ "They could come in handy. We could always sell'em for a few credits, if nothing else. Or we could make some nice firebombs out of them." She peered at an opened bottle. It had barely been emptied, so she stuffed it into the pack, too. _

_ "We're making good progress," Carth observed. He was surprised at how much they had gotten accomplished, in just a few days. He didn't think he could have gotten so far, so fast, by himself. He could've done without her persistent questions, though. _

_ "We make a good team, hey?" She grinned at him. He couldn't help grinning back. She hefted her pack, the contents clinking and sloshing. "Onward and downward." _

Carth shook his head. "I know I wouldn't have been able to get so much done in so little time, without her help. We got past the elevator guard with no trouble, but then we reached the Lower City." His nose wrinkled. "And our troubles only just began."

_ Revan nodded at the Sith guarding the elevator. "Another patrol going into the Lower City, huh? Good luck, and watch out for the swoop gangs. They're mad enough to attack even us," the guard said as he opened the elevator for them. He ignored Carth, probably figuring him for a hireling. _

_ She saluted him and stepped into the elevator, Carth following on her heels. _

_ As soon as the doors closed, she fumbled at the armor's straps. "Quick, help me get this thing off. I really don't want to wander around a gang war with 'please shoot me' clothes on." _

_ Carth helped her worm out of the armor. "Good idea. The swoop gangs might not bother us if we don't provoke them." _

_ Revan gave him a disbelieving look. "You're kidding, right? Anything and everything goes in a gang war. Nobody's safe, especially not outsiders." She slipped her vibroblades out of their scabbards, holding them loosely in her hands. _

_ "Been in a gang war?" Carth asked as he loosened his pistols in their holsters. _

_ "No, fortunately. But I've seen the carnage that gets left behind when all the dust is settled." Revan's features twisted. "Not a pretty sight." _

_ The elevator doors opened. Carth gagged at the stench of garbage, urine, feces and worse things that rolled over them. Revan paled a little, and her nostrils were pinched, but she showed no other reaction. _

_ "Try breathing through your mouth for a moment while your nose gets used to the smell," Revan suggested. "I've been in worse places. Granted, not too many worse. This is near the top of the list. Or maybe the bottom." _

_ Carth took her advice, breathing shallowly through his mouth. He really didn't want the dirty air, laden with who-knew-what contaminants, in his lungs. Unfortunately, he had no environment suit and he couldn't hold his breath for the whole time he knew they'd be here. _

_ Revan looked around at the shabby corridor, the dying light fixtures, the scorch marks of grenade or blaster burns and broken panels, while she waited for Carth to acclimate himself. A burning swoop bike cast flickering light on the walls. She rummaged idly in her pocket. _

_ "Here, this might help," Revan said as she handed a piece of candy to Carth. _

_ Carth took it and popped it into his mouth. He had noticed that she had a serious sweet tooth, buying candy from all of the kiosks they passed, while chatting it up with the merchants for information. _

_ His eyes started to water and he nearly spat the candy back out. "What the hell is this?" he gasped. _

_ Revan smirked at his surprised reaction. "I don't know the name of it, but it's some kind of strong mint." _

_ "'Strong'? I'm surprised you still have your sinuses!" Carth exclaimed. At least it had cleaned out some of the stench from his nose. _

_ "Well, now all you can smell is minty freshness, instead of sewage," Revan said, grinning. _

_ Carth had to admit that it was effective. And it had cleared out his sinuses, too. Not that they had needed the rough treatment. _

_ They stepped warily forward, straight into a skirmish between the Black Vulkars and the Hidden Beks. Outnumbered, the Beks were slaughtered. About ten or fifteen Vulkars turned their attention upon them. _

_ "Well, well. Looks like some townies coming down here to slum it," a Rodian said jeeringly. _

_ Carth and Revan tensed. "We're not worth the trouble," Revan said nonchalantly. "We don't have any credits worth your time." _

_ A human leered at Revan. "She looks a pretty piece. I say we kill the man and take her back for the rest of the gang to enjoy." The rest of the Vulkars laughed coarsely and advanced on them. _

_ Carth's lip curled, but his heart was pounding. They were outnumbered fifteen to two! He snatched his blasters from his holsters. He saw that Revan was watching them with the slightly-unfocussed gaze of an expert swordsman facing multiple opponents. _

_ Revan looked entirely unfazed by the odds. "Come and get me, dickless." She leapt at them, blades raised high, taking them momentarily aback with her aggressive move. _

_ Carth almost swallowed his tongue with fear for her. _Insane woman!_ He started picking off Vulkars while they were distracted by the whirling dervish in their midst. _Absolutely crazy!

_ Revan feinted, swinging at the torsoes and faces of the Vulkars in front. They raised their own weapons to block, but she had dropped and slid between their legs, right into the middle of the group. _

_ The Vulkars were too close together to hurt her effectively, hitting each other more often than not. Revan knew that wouldn't last, so she got her licks in as fast as she could swing her blades. _

_ The human who had leered at her was repaid for the insult by the blade she stabbed up into his crotch. He dropped with a howl, clutching himself, knocking another Vulkar off his feet. _

_ Carth winced, but continued firing; carefully, so as not to hit Revan. He suddenly noticed something else that was strange about her. She was absolutely silent when she fought. No battlecries, grunts or involuntary noises of exertion. _

_ Revan swung her vibroblades left and right at the legs of the Vulkars, squirming through to the back of the knot, towards the burning swoop bike. _

_ The Vulkars were wising by up now; they distanced themselves so that they could strike her without hitting each other. Revan saw that at least they were sufficiently enraged enough to go after her, ignoring Carth and his lethal fire. She saw that several bodies were now lying on the floor, scorched by blaster bolts. _

_ She retreated, sweeping her blades up to parry blows, on the defensive now. She clamped her teeth on one blade hastily but carefully, freeing her hand to rummage in her pack for a grenade. The Vulkars were too close to use a grenade without getting hurt herself, but if she was going to die, she was going to take them with her. _

_ Her hand brushed on the smoothness of glass, instead. She pulled out the opened bottle of Tarisian ale she had stolen. She grinned ferally and spat out her blade. Ducking and dodging blows, not always successfully, she retreated further, closer to the swoop bike. _

_ Revan threw herself back from a Vulkar's stun baton, landing next to the burning swoop. She threw her other blade at a Vulkar, managing to hit him lightly in the chest with it. She wasn't strong enough to impale him with it, alas. _

_ She snatched up a piece of burning debris, ignoring the heat of the hot metal. She bit the cork from the bottle, spat it out and took a swig of the ale, as much as her mouth could hold, all the while keeping her back to the Vulkars. _

_ The rest of the Vulkars had caught up with her by now, about to overwhelm her with sheer numbers. She spun, holding up the burning piece of scrap to her mouth and blew the mouthful of ale straight at them. A plume of flame sprang from her lips, rolling over the unsuspecting Vulkars. _

_ The Vulkars screamed and covered their faces with their arms, though it was too late for some of them, who had had their eyes and faces seared. _

_ She took another large mouthful of ale and repeated the flamethrowing trick, catching the ones in the back. She smashed the still-full bottle over the head of another Vulkar, showering him and some others nearby with ale and splinters of glass. She touched her makeshift torch to him while he was stunned. He lit up quite satisfactorily. He lurched and thrashed around, touching those around him with fire, too. _

_ She stabbed the jagged pieces of the bottle into the gut of another Vulkar still standing, ripping through his combat suit. He screamed and dropped his sword, clutching at the gaping wounds in his stomach. She charged back into the fray, swinging her rough-and-ready dagger. _

_ Carth ran up and shot the Vulkars still alive at point-blank range. He double-tapped the burning Vulkar, who was still thrashing around and screaming, in the head. More as a mercy than anything else. _

_ Revan had slumped against a wall, holding her burned hand and listing to the side. She slid down into a heap even as he came towards her. Carth saw that she had several sword wounds on her arms and legs, some of them pretty deep. A bruise was already blooming on one eye, promising to be quite spectacular the next day. _

_ He injected a medpac on her upper arm. "You are absolutely, positively insane, you know that?" He noticed that her face was slightly singed and ruddy from doing her firebreathing tricks. _

_ She winced as the needle went in, then relaxed as the kolto worked its magic. "Hey, it worked, didn't it?" She grinned at him. _

_ Carth laughed, which set her off. Pretty soon they were holding their sides, laughing their heads off, surrounded by the corpses of Vulkars. _

_ It's battle tension, he thought. But her eyes sparkled charmingly at him. _

Dustil gaped at his father. "She did what?"

"You heard me right the first time, son." Carth smiled reminiscently.

Dustil shook his head. "I'm surprised she's survived this long."

Carth laughed. "Me, too. But Revan has always been like that."

"Do I hear my name being taken in vain?" Revan said as she walked into the cockpit.

Carth turned. "You heard right. I was just telling Dustil about our trials and tribulations on Taris."

"And about how insane I was back then, too, no doubt." Revan grinned. She turned to Dustil. "Dustil, we've been working you hard, so I think it's time you got a holiday. I don't know how Carth has been grading you, but you've done very well at the work I gave you."

"You've done real well at piloting, too, Dustil. I guess we have been driving you hard." Carth smiled proudly.

"Uh, thanks," Dustil said, looking surprised at Revan's announcement.

Revan handed Dustil a long, thin box. "A gift, for being so hard working and diligent."

Dustil opened it to see a fine vibroblade, already fitted with upgrade modules. "Wow. Thanks." He took it out and admired it, then resheathed it in the included scabbard.

"The places we'll be going to will probably be in rough neighborhoods, where you won't be favored with good lines of sight for your blasters. I hope you're smart enough to avoid back alley knife fights, but that doesn't mean you won't get caught up in them." Revan smiled at the pleasure she saw in Dustil's face.

"Hey, I got you a present, too, son," Carth said as he reached under his chair for a large package. He handed it to Dustil.

Dustil blinked and opened it. He brushed his hands on a set of light armor, black and gray, with strange markings on it. He also found a pair of gauntlets and combat sensors. "Thanks, Father."

"You're welcome, son. You're going to need all of that, where we're going." Carth looked aside at his instrument panel. "We're coming up on Nar Shaddaa."

Dustil looked at the moon, glittering with refueling spires, repair facilities and spaceports. Hordes of ships, of all sizes and models, came and went, as Carth piloted them through the heavy traffic. "What do you know about Nar Shaddaa, Father?"

"Not exactly the cultural center of the galaxy that I wanted you to see, son. More like the armpit of the universe," Carth muttered as he followed the directions sent to them from Flight Control. "Nar Shaddaa is a moon orbiting Nal Hutta, and the Hutts have made it over into a giant spaceport. It's the hub for all kinds of smuggling operations, for the entire galaxy."

"Paradise is a subjective term. This is a veritable heaven for smugglers of all sorts," Revan commented. "If anyone knows anything about the Sith raids, they'll be here."

Carth set them down in the spaceport closest to the Corellian sector, and they all went to prepare themselves for the first stop in their information-gathering hunt.


	22. Waylaid

**Chapter 22: Waylaid**

Dustil walked out of the galley, one of JC-01's mobile compartments rolling after him like a gizka wanting to be fed. He shook his head at the datapad in his hand, and sighed in resignation.

"What's got you down, son?"

Carth's question interrupted Dustil's reverie. He looked up to see his father cleaning his armor. His vibroblades had been taken apart, the pieces scattered on the holo table, in preparation for reassembly after inspection.

Dustil waved the datapad in his hand, and gestured at the table behind him, which had paused in its movement. "Revan's got me learning etiquette and _deportment_." He said the last word with the same inflection as one might say 'digging latrines'. "I have to remember which utensil is what, when to use it and what to use it on."

Carth saw that the table had been laden with a great many forks, spoons and knives, arranged in the most formal of place settings. "Ah, well, being a Jedi isn't all about swinging your lightsaber and throwing Force attacks around, son. You'll have to meet people at formal affairs at least once in your life, more when you become a Jedi. I know it seems like a waste of time, but you'll be amazed at how many people think you're stupid if you don't know which fork to use."

Dustil sighed deeply. "I know. But Revan said she'll be testing me later, and I'll have to eat standard ship rations each time I get something wrong."

Carth laughed. "A pretty effective threat."

Dustil glowered at his father. "I think I preferred it when she was beating me black and blue." Seeing Carth open his mouth, eyes crinkled in amusement, he added hastily, "Don't tell her I said that!"

Carth closed his mouth and grinned. Dustil gave him one last glower before gathering the remains of his dignity and walked off to the starboard quarters, the compartment following faithfully.

Carth turned back to his cleaning, cocking his head at the muffled sounds of blaster fire coming from the cargo hold. He wondered if Revan was practising her blaster deflection, but he couldn't discern the distinctive sounds of her lightsabers from the noise. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps.

Revan was wiping sweat from her brow with a towel as she walked towards the refresher. Carth snagged her around the waist and pulled her into his lap as she passed by. "So just what have you been up to?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her.

Revan started unbuckling a pair of gauntlets from her arms. "Been testing out these blaster-proof bracers BR-01 made up for me." She took a glass of water from a tray JC-01 had unobtrusively deposited on the table.

BR-01 rolled in from the swoop hangar, obviously having waited there for Revan to come out. "Are they satisfactory, Master Revan?"

"What do you need them for? You've got lightsabers," Carth said, perplexed.

Revan shook her head. "I'm supposed to be in disguise. Fat lot of good hiding my identity would be, if I whip out lightsabers. Besides, I won't always have time to use them, like the other day in Fleet HQ."

"People would starting getting a clue if they see you deflecting blaster bolts, even if you're not using lightsabers," Carth said skeptically.

"It won't be nearly as obvious." Revan finished unstrapping the bracers and put them on the table. "Hm."

"Oh dear," BR-01 said, one sensor extended from his head, peering at Revan's arms.

"Damn," Carth muttered, frowning as he examined her arms, too.

Revan looked dismayed at the redness of very light burns on her arms where the gauntlets had covered them. "They work just fine... I deflected every single shot, but perhaps some kind of heat dissipation is needed..."

BR-01 gathered up the gauntlets. "Indeed. Perhaps some sort of insulation layer..." He extended his lower pair of arms and took out from his storage compartment several electronic locks, installed in cases, and put them on the table. "Oh, here are the mechanisms you requested, Master."

"Oh, thanks," Revan said. The redness faded as she used the Force to heal her burns. BR-01 wheeled away, already tinkering with the bracers.

"What're these for?" Carth asked curiously.

"My own homework. You know how I can use the Force to destroy droids?" Revan asked, as she leaned against him.

"Uh-huh. Came in real handy on the Star Forge."

"Well, I was thinking that not everyone's going to be forthcoming with information. I mean, sure, there're these OFI informants we have to meet, but we might discover something on our own. In which case, being able to open locks very quickly would be quite handy. I can pick them using normal methods, but that would take time."

"What does being able to destroy droids with the Force have to do with picking locks?"

"I think that if I could use that power more subtly, I could use the Force to open locks. It would be a good exercise in control, anyway. Too much and the circuits are fried; too little and alarms might be raised."

Carth picked one of the locks up, and saw that it was one of the more simpler ones. She obviously planned to work her way up to more complex ones later. He turned back to Revan, but saw that she had closed her eyes. "Hey, you look... tired. Why don't you go take a nap or something?" he suggested gently.

Last night had been one of Revan's bad ones. The nightmares had slowly tapered off after the Star Forge, so that she had them every few nights instead of every night, but they were no less draining and painful for her.

Whenever he asked her what she had dreamed about she would always say the same thing. _The usual. Blood, death, murder... Same old, same old._ The facetious, flippant words, wan smile and the brave face she always put on afterwards was enough to break his heart.

He wished he could do more than just hold her while she wept bitterly on his chest, her tears soaking into his skin. He felt so damned useless when it happened. But she seemed to derive some measure of comfort from his embrace, and he certainly wasn't going to begrudge her it.

Revan opened her tired-looking eyes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "No, I'm fine. We've done enough scouting... we should talk to our informants today."

Carth pressed his cheek to hers. "You don't have to go. Dustil and I can handle it by ourselves. You could stay here and sleep in."

She shook her head, the beads in her hair clacking softly at the movement. "No, I'll be all right. I want to take a look at the rougher neighborhoods of the infamous Smuggler's Moon."

Carth grimaced. "I imagine it's a lot like the Taris Undercity, only bigger, and the rakghouls look just like everyone else."

Revan smiled and kissed him, before getting up and heading to the refresher.

*** * ***

Dustil sat in the smoky, dimly-lit cantina, dealing out Pazaak cards to Revan. They had both spotted the informant, a sleazy-looking Rodian, at a table. Carth sat nearby, at the circular bar, keeping an eye out for trouble and watching their backs.

Revan threw her cards down, shaking her head with disgust. "You've damned cleaned me out, spacer. I'm cutting my losses." She stood and stalked to the bar.

That was his cue to go chat up the Rodian. He sneered at Revan's retreating back, still in his persona as arrogant Pazaak gambler. "No one likes a sore loser, lady." He walked over to the Rodian's table.

The Rodian had taken out a greasy-looking Pazaak deck and had laid them out. He glanced up as Dustil paused by his elbow.

"Hey, you just fondling those cards, or do you play?" Dustil asked.

The Rodian looked up. "I play, but you wouldn't be interested in these piddly bets, sir."

That was one of the codephrases. Dustil shrugged and slid into the seat across from the Rodian. "I play high or low. It's the game that interests me, not the credits." He had included one of the recognition phrases.

The Rodian's shiny black eyes seemed to sharpen. "How about just a small wager for starters? Say, 152 credits?"

The number was the next codephrase. Dustil nodded. He looked up curiously at the crowd that was starting assemble around Revan and a Twi'lek. He turned back when the Rodian laid out the first card.

Carth watched a stocky Twi'lek, trailed by three or four of his friends, approach Revan at the bar, pushing their way through the other patrons rudely. The people they shoved aside snarled, and would have started a fight, no doubt... except that they wisely didn't. Possibly it was because they were, all four of them, festooned with weapons.

Apparently no one was drunk enough yet to attempt it. Or didn't have enough of their own friends to be willing to take them on.

The Twi'lek leaned on the bar next to Revan, a little too close for Carth's comfort. She winked at him, turning her face so that the Twi'lek couldn't see.

Carth sighed inwardly. Revan was a damned magnet for trouble. He watched them carefully from where he sat at the bar, seated across from her.

Revan looked amusedly at Carth. His disguise and posture had scared off the patrons nearby, so that he sat in a tiny oasis of empty seats. He was scowling now, which made him look even more menacing. He would have to stop that soon, otherwise someone with more brawns than brains and full of beer-bottle bravery would pick a fight with him, just because he looked so tough. He belonged more in a bounty hunter's bar, not a typical spacer's cantina like this one.

The Twi'lek, meanwhile, had ordered a drink for her, snapping his fingers at the bartender, who hastily filled his order. _Hm, local bully boy?_ Revan thought. The patrons and employees all seemed to know him. Best to tread carefully, and not draw too much attention, then.

"So, pretty lady... I haven't seen you in here before. Just arrived?" the Twi'lek asked.

Revan smiled amiably, and took the drink he'd bought. "Just passing through," she said, sipping.

The Twi'lek downed his own drink, emptying it in one gulp. It was refilled immediately. "Just passing through? Why, that means you won't be gracing us with your lovely charms too much longer, eh? How about I show you a night on the town, make this visit to our lovely moon a memorable one?"

"I'll think about it. This is a business trip, after all." Revan smiled, softening the refusal.

The Twi'lek shook his head. "Now, now, I won't take 'no' for an answer. I insist."

Carth tensed. He shifted, and started to get up, when Revan flashed him a _Wait_ hand signal as she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. Very well, he would wait. But that Twi'lek was just asking for a few, or all, of his teeth to go missing.

"How about a friendly wager, sir?" Revan cooed at the Twi'lek, who arched a brow at her. She pointed at the sleek, deadly-looking slugthrower on his hip. "A drinking contest! If I win, you give me your gun." The Twi'lek looked startled, and put a hand on his slugthrower unconsciously.

"And if _I_ win? A night with me, eh?" the Twi'lek asked, recovering his aplomb.

"Oh, perhaps a prize of commensurate value would be more rewarding." Revan took out her vibroblade and displayed it. The Twi'lek looked unimpressed with the unadorned, if functional-looking, sword.

And then Revan unsheathed it in one quick motion, and used it to slice an empty bottle on the bar in half. The Twi'lek and his friends had tensed at the swiftness of her movement, but by the time they had put hands to weapons, she had already resheathed her blade.

_Show-off_, Carth thought. His lips twitched as he watched in amusement. Revan always did have a flair for the melodramatic.

The bottle stood for a moment, then slowly fell into two equal pieces, clattering on the bartop. There was no mark on the counter.

The Twi'lek grinned slowly. The woman was as quick and deadly as she was beautiful, it seemed. An irresistable combination. And with her small frame, she couldn't possible be able to handle the amount of liquor _he_ could put away. "You're on."

A crowd had gathered around them when they had seen Revan do her bottle-chopping trick. Now murmurs arose as the bartender started bringing out glasses. Some enterprising cantina worker started taking bets.

"Whoever gives up first loses. And the loser pays for all the drinks," Revan said. The Twi'lek nodded his agreement to her rules.

Carth groaned silently. She couldn't possibly drink as much as the much larger Twi'lek. _Insane, infuriating woman._ She didn't have nearly as much body mass to handle so much. Still, if she lost, he'd get a chance to teach that Twi'lek a few lessons in manners.

Dustil watched Revan down drink after drink, matching the Twi'lek's pace calmly, as he played Pazaak with the Rodian. He palmed the Rodian his fee as he dealt the cards. Revan had made him practice the sleight-of-hand until he had it down pat.

The session ended normally enough. The Rodian gave him everything he had and Dustil used the special memorization techniques Revan had taught him to take down all of the information into his head. He would be able to repeat, word for word, everything the Rodian had said to him later.

"Well, looks like you've cleaned me out, too, sir," the Rodian said mournfully. He gathered up his side deck and rose. He bowed to Dustil and slipped through the other patrons, out the door.

Dustil shrugged and gathered up his cards. He followed the Rodian out, seeing that Revan was still immersed in her drinking contest with the Twi'lek. She and Carth would follow a little later, no doubt.

Revan put down her thirtieth glass, empty, joining a large pile of its brethren on the bar. She smiled at her opponent. "Your turn." She burped, lady-like.

The Twi'lek stared at her, then blearily at the glass in front of him. "I thinsh, think, thatsh enough for me, lady. You win." He shoved his slugthrower, still in its holster and belt, along with a few ammo clips, towards her, then staggered from the bar. His friends patted him on the back, ribbing him for losing.

The crowd that had gathered around them cheered or groaned loudly, according to how they had made their bets. There were a lot more groans than cheers.

Revan grinned and took up her spoils. She slung the gun belt on immediately, then snapped her fingers imperiously at the bookie, who deferentially handed her a large pile of credits. She had, of course, bet on herself.

Carth slipped through the dispersing crowd and sat next to her. "If you had wanted one of those antiques, I would've been more than happy to buy you one."

Revan shrugged. "It wasn't my intention to have a drinking contest in the first place. But I noticed that Twi'lek had some bully boys with him, and thought they might make trouble for us. Well, for me. Better to have them back down peacefully than you punching their lights out. Besides, it's so much more satisfying this way."

Carth scowled. "I'd rather do that. I still want to." The gall of that Twi'lek, marching right up and flirting with her... Ham-handedly, at that.

Revan smirked. "Oh, it's better my way. Challenge a man's pride, and they'll stop at nothing to try and prove you wrong. And all their brains just go straight out the airlock."

Carth wondered if that remark was to his address. From the way her eyes were glinting at him, it was. "Don't I get enough female bashing from you?" He scowled in the direction of the retreating Twi'lek. "I should go and teach him some manners."

Revan fluttered her eyelashes at him innocently. Carth wasn't buying it. "Now, now, we're trying to keep a low profile. And I thought you were too respectable to brawl in bars."

Carth grinned. With his new scars, the grin made him look quite evil. "Like Mission said, I don't look respectable anymore."

"You're enjoying being a bad boy, aren't you?" Revan asked, amused.

"Who, me? I'm not!" Carth protested. She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Okay, well, maybe a little." He examined her, but she looked none the worse for wear even after drinking enough rotgut to drown a bantha. "So how come you're not falling-down drunk? I didn't know you had such a good head for alcohol."

"Normally I don't, but I do have, ah, special abilities, as you know." Revan wasn't going to say more, not in the crowded cantina. "I can filter out toxins from my bloodstream, and that includes alcohol esters. Unfortunately, my powers don't also increase the capacity of the normal human bladder, so I'll be right back."

Carth chuckled, watching her scurry off to the ladies' room. He frowned and looked at the door Dustil had gone through a few minutes ago. He felt strangely nervous, and impatient to be off. He had learned to trust his instincts and hunches long ago, and something was telling him he needed to follow after his son. He found himself gripping a sword hilt tightly.

Fortunately, Revan was not a woman who dithered, as she came back out quite soon. Carth saw that she had an abstracted expression on her face.

"We should go follow after Dustil," Revan said without preamble.

Carth raised his eyebrows at the way both of their minds seemed to be on the same wavelength. "I was about to say the same thing... I get the nasty feeling he's going to be in trouble."

"You, too? Interesting. Well, let's get a move on."

Dustil walked away from the cantina, a seedy dive located in a rough neighborhood. He had to step over drunks and cross noisome alleys, heading on an oblique path to a garage where the swoop bike was parked.

A noise at the front of the alley made him put his hand on a blaster. The scuffle of a boot on the dirty ground at the back told him he had just been bracketed. He looked hurriedly around for some sort of cover.

Nothing. A few mounds of trash were all that graced this particular alley.

Three figures emerged from the inky darkness. They were silhouetted by the blinking holo signs that were the only sources of light in the area.

"We saw you win quite a few Pazaak games, kid. But it looks like your run of luck's over," a voice said.

"They were just small bets. Nothing that'd interest you," Dustil said casually. He rested both of his hands on the butts of his blasters, ready to draw them if things got messy. And things looked like they would get messy. _Very_ messy.

He actually had just a few credits left. And these thugs would be very unhappy when they found out. They were likely to take their disappointment out on his hide.

"I'll be the judge of that, kid." The figure in the middle made a motion with his hand. Dustil heard the sounds of several pairs of footsteps approach him from behind. The two figures who flanked the speaker also swaggered forward.

"Does it take that many of you just to take down one kid? Leave him alone," Dustil heard Carth say from behind him, some distance away.

"This doesn't involve you, whoever you are. Don't play the hero, sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong, or I won't be responsible for what happens," the voice said lazily. It sounded amused.

Dustil heard the silken sounds of a pair of vibroblades being unsheathed. "I won't ask again," he heard Carth growl. He sounded much closer now, though Dustil hadn't heard him approach.

"Boss, you want us to take down this meddlin' bozo?" one of the figures in front of Dustil asked. It sounded like a Trandoshan. The rest of the thugs had halted when Carth spoke.

The supremely sinister sound of a round cycling into the chamber of a slugthrower rang out in the silence. The apparent leader, who had first spoken, froze when someone appeared out of thin air right next to him.

Revan had finally made her appearance. Dramatically, as always. She had the slugthrower pressed to the head of the figure, her other arm draped amiably on the man's shoulders.

"Call them off, my good man," Dustil heard her purr into the figure's ear. Her tone was casual and polite, as if she were just asking for the time.

The figure hesitated, as he sized up the situation. His thugs outnumbered them. Dustil tensed.

"We can do this the hard way, or we can do this the easy way. _You want to do this the easy way,_" Revan said softly, dangerously. Dustil heard the Force persuasion behind her words.

"Boss?" the thug asked uncertainly, bewildered by the stalemate.

"I want to do this the easy way," the figure repeated. He sounded a little dazed. He started to shake his head, but Revan still had the barrel pressed firmly to his temple.

"Let him go. He's probably small pickings, anyway." The figure was putting up a brave front, Dustil had to admit, managing to sound calm despite the gun pressed to his head.

"Tell them to go to the other end of the alley," Revan commanded.

"Go to the other end of the alley," the figure called obediently.

The thugs looked at each other, then shrugged. Dustil stepped aside to let them pass. He moved his hands away from his blasters, putting one on his vibroblade, instead. What Revan had said about back alley knife fights came clearly to him. He hoped the thugs saw it and took the unsubtle hint.

He felt Carth at his back. They stepped slowly towards Revan and the figure. Close up, Dustil saw that it was a short, stocky human.

Once Dustil and Carth had stepped out of the alley, Revan knocked the human unconscious with a single precise blow of her slugthrower. She clicked the safety back on and reholstered it. She grabbed their hands and called on the Force to lend them speed.

"His bully boys will be right behind us. We have to get to the ship, _right now_," Revan said calmly.

"Swoop's parked right over there," Dustil said, pointing with his free hand. He could hear footsteps running faintly in the distance.

"Carth and I will go on foot. You take the swoop, Dustil," Revan said. Dustil waved an acknowledging hand, started up the swoop, and took off in the opposite direction, heading for the spaceport.


	23. Lesson

**Chapter 23: Lesson**

Revan and Carth were waiting for Dustil in the swoop hangar of the _Ebon Hawk_ when he got back, as he eased the swoop up the ramp and parked it.

"You all right, Dustil?" Revan asked.

Dustil nodded. "I'm fine. Thanks for saving me again." He had never been on that side of the fence before. _He_ had always been the one in the bullying crowd, facing down his victims with the numbers on _his_ side. The role reversal was a strange experience. One he would have to think on.

Revan smiled. "No thanks are necessary. We're a team, and that means we all watch each other's back, yes?"

"So, bet you're not too proud to take some backup anymore, eh, son?" Carth grinned.

Dustil nodded sheepishly. "Okay, okay, you told me so." He hadn't been pleased that his father and Revan would be looking over his shoulder when they met these informants. He didn't need babysitters, he'd argued.

Revan had convinced him that even she had needed backup on the quest for the Star Forge. He was glad he had listened. Of course, his father and Revan would've followed him, anyway, whatever his protests, he was quite sure.

Revan shook her head. "It's a hard lesson, and at least you learned it without getting knocked around too badly." Dustil thought he detected some hidden emphasis in her words, as if she spoke from personal experience.

"That slugthrower you won came in pretty handy tonight. Very good touch when you loaded it--it sounded really nasty and scary," Carth commented to Revan.

Revan grinned. "Wasn't it? I'm glad I decided to participate in that gun demonstration at the shop where I bought Dustil's sword."

Carth looked relieved. "So you _do_ know how to fire that thing. And please tell me you took out the ammo. We don't need it going off accidentally and the bullets ricocheting all over the place."

"Oh, uh, good idea." Revan took out her slugthrower and unloaded the clip. "I do sort of know how to fire one. I fired one a few times at the range behind that weapons shop, but it's got a kick like a charging rancor. Nearly broke my wrist. And it's awfully loud."

"Well, I'm grateful you had it," Dustil put in.

"That Rodian was the last informant on Nar Shaddaa. Any reason we have to stay longer?" Carth asked. "The provisions and supplies we bought were loaded on yesterday, so we're all set on that front."

Dustil grimaced. "Nar Shaddaa was exciting the first few days, but now... ugh."

The giant spaceport moon was full of things Dustil had never seen before, offering all sorts of entertainments to the smuggler population, from the mundane to the extremely, well, exotic. Carth hadn't looked pleased, exactly, at his interest, but he'd told his son that he was a grown man, and that he could do whatever he wanted.

And he might well have taken up some of the offers made to him, if Revan hadn't looked so amused at him. And made that comment about exactly where the contraceptives were located in the sickbay. Not to mention her kind and considerate offer to Force heal any venereal diseases he might have picked up on their stay afterwards.

Dustil had confined himself to just sightseeing and window shopping after that.

But after he'd gotten over the dazzlement of Nar Shaddaa's blandishments, the sleaziness of the moon had soon made itself apparent.

"Not so fast." Revan waved her datapad at Dustil. "Let's hear what that Rodian had to say, first."

Dustil took a deep breath and cleared his mind. His eyes unfocused slightly as he started to recite, word for word, everything the Rodian had said to him while they had been playing Pazaak. Revan recorded it all into her datapad.

Dustil's eyes lost their vagueness as soon as he finished. "Well, that's all of it."

Revan smiled. "Excellent work, Dustil. You did very well in your first assignment."

Dustil grinned, gratified by the praise. "Thanks."

"You did good, son," Carth said, giving him an approving nod. Dustil rewarded his father's words with a smile.

Revan skimmed through the text on her pad, going over the information again. "Hm..."

Carth looked warily at her. "I know that look... you're planning something."

Revan grinned mischievously. Dustil was once again struck by the dichotomy of a mature Jedi looking as impish as Mission. "Dustil's informant mentioned a Hutt named Goorju who might know something more about these Sith we're after. Says he might've sold weapons to them, because he's been throwing around his wealth after receiving a visit from some mysterious offworlders."

Carth looked skeptical. "How do we know they were Sith and not some other kind of weapons dealers? Can't swing a dead gizka around here without hitting a smuggler of some sort."

Revan looked down at the pad. "You're right, I could be barking up the wrong tree. But I think this lead is worth pursuing. The Hutt sold an incredible amount of weapons to them. Enough to outfit a small army... or a splinter group of the Sith fleet."

Carth looked glumly at her, quite certain he knew where she was going with this. "And you want to break into this Goorju's place and find out more. Nevermind the fact that he probably has the place locked up tight as a drum."

Revan contrived to look innocent. Neither Onasi men were buying it. "Well, yes, that's pretty much the plan. As for locks..." She pointed at the small mountain of electronic locks on the workbench. "Watch _this_." She closed her eyes and propped her chin in one hand, in an attitude of deep thought.

Carth and Dustil looked uncertainly at Revan, then at the locks.

A few minutes passed without anything happening. Carth started to look dubiously at Revan, when the sudden click of a lock opening broke the silence, startling him. More clicks sounded, faster and faster, as more locks opened in a cascade like falling dominoes. In seconds, all of the locks had been opened.

"Whoa. That's neat!" Dustil exclaimed, examining the opened locks. He looked impressed. "Could you teach _me_ how to do that?"

Carth looked amusedly at his son. "And you'll do _what_, exactly, with that sort of power?"

Dustil rubbed the back of his neck and grinned. "Only good things, Father. Really!" Carth gave him a skeptical look.

Revan smirked. "Maybe when you've become a Jedi Knight, Dustil." Dustil pouted in mock disappointment at her.

Carth sighed. "I suppose we're going to have to stay here on this dismal moon for a while longer?"

Revan nodded. "I'm afraid so. We have to scout out more information about this Hutt, and make a reconnaissance of his headquarters... We'll have to start early, tomorrow."

Carth stretched and rolled his shoulders. "Then we should all turn in, if we have to make an early start tomorrow."

Dustil caught himself yawning hugely. "Right. Well, good night, Father, Revan." He got up from the swoop bike and made a beeline for his quarters.

Revan cocked her head in a listening pose. "Okay, he's out of earshot. What did you want to say?"

Carth stared at her. "It's really uncanny when you do that."

Revan gave him a knowing smile. "Didn't I tell you before that it doesn't take Jedi powers to read a man? Your body language has always been an open book to me."

"You don't have to rub it in." Carth placed his hands on the wall on either side of Revan, seemingly trapping her, though she made no move to escape. Nor did she give any indication she wanted to. "So what am I saying now?"

"Nothing that can be spoken in public without getting arrested for indecency." Revan grinned up at him.

"Seriously, I wanted to ask you just how far you're planning on bringing Dustil in on these missions," Carth said, eyes sobering. "This break-in you're planning..."

"You mean any further than just talking to informants? I don't know. But you and I both know he'd be quite willing to join in if I asked it of him."

"That's what I'm afraid of. This is still all just one big adventure to him... I know he's a grown man now, and I shouldn't be so overprotective of him anymore. He wouldn't appreciate it... My chance to be protective of him is... long gone." Carth looked sadly back at the lost opportunities.

Revan brushed her fingertips along his cheek. "It speaks well of your fatherly instincts, though."

"They weren't so great if Dustil thought I had abandoned him on Telos." Carth sighed.

Revan wrapped her arms around his waist. "Now who's whipping himself for things he can't change? It's no good thinking about things you _should've_ done. Only thinking about things you _will_ do.

"As for letting him come with us on more than just information-gathering... well, it's his decision, isn't it? I think he would react better to a reasoned request for assistance, treating him like an adult, than he would to anything else. I think he'd appreciate more an attitude of confidence in his abilities from you."

Carth leaned his forehead down against hers. "I know. It's hard, though. To me, he's still the young child I went to war for. I worry about him. I don't think I could ever stop worrying about and for him."

"It's nothing you should be apologetic about, Carth. It's something every father experiences when their babies grow up. He'll be going out on potentially dangerous missions as a Jedi. Even if he didn't want to be a Jedi, if he followed in your footsteps and joined the Fleet, he'd still be away and out of your protection," Revan said. She tugged him along to their quarters.

"Yeah... he has to make his own decisions, now... even if they bring him into harm's way," Carth said resignedly.

"At least on this particular mission, you'll be able to keep an eye on him." Revan grinned. "He's got you, a decorated war hero of the Republic and saviour of the galaxy, and me, a troubleshooting Jedi, watching over him! Come on, he couldn't be safer!" she said reassuringly.

Carth laughed. "More like 'troublemaking Jedi', beautiful," he corrected. Her hands were starting to do some rather distracting things, making it hard for him to think coherently.

"So, can you interpret _my_ body language?" Revan asked coyly.

Carth said nothing; he just responded with his own wordless gestures.

Sleep was a long time coming, but they didn't mind at all.


	24. Hunting

**Chapter 24: Hunting**

Revan, Carth and Dustil stared up appraisingly at the back of the building that served Goorju the Hutt for his palace. The front entrance was quite grand, if decorated with a rather garish taste. As if to make up for the tasteless showiness of the front, the back of the palace was quite plain and utilitarian.

They stood in a noisome alley that dead-ended at one of the palace's walls. Carth wrinkled his nose. The alley had the all-pervading stench of all such alleys the galaxy over. It was narrow; the two buildings that formed it were crumbling and derelict wrecks, making the grandeur of the Hutt's palace even more apparent.

Revan pointed at a window high up on the wall. "I think that's going to be our best bet."

Dustil looked up dubiously at the tiny aperture. "How're you going to reach it?"

Carth snorted faintly. "She can climb better than a monkey-lizard, son."

Revan flashed him a grin. She motioned Carth to take a position right next to the wall, under the window. Carth, long familiar with her tactics, got down on one knee and cupped his hands into a stirrup. At Revan's wave, Dustil squeezed himself as close to the wall as he could without touching it.

Revan pattered back down the alley, away from the palace. Dustil lost sight of her in the gloom of the shadows. Then he heard her run, her feet slapping on the ground faster and faster. A blur passed him, and his hair stirred in the wind of her passage.

Carth launched Revan up as hard as he could as soon as he felt her foot in his hands. Dustil watched, agog, as Revan leapt high and bounced her feet from one wall to the other, using the two walls forming the alley like vertical stepping stones, until she reached the tiny window. She clung with her hands to the windowsill.

Dustil heard his father take in a breath and hold it, until Revan levered herself to her elbows, her body dangling precariously over a fairly-long drop. She must've used the Force to open the window, because he didn't see her physically manipulate anything. She slithered through and was lost to his sight.

Carth breathed out again, exhaling a relieved, if resigned, sigh. "This is like Bendak Starkiller all over again," he muttered distractedly under his breath.

Dustil, resigned to a long, boring wait in the dark, smelly alley, pounced on this distraction. "Bendak Starkiller? The infamous, undefeated duelist who's notorious for killing all of his opponents in deathmatches?"

Carth raised an eyebrow at his son, his artificially-green eyes seeming to glitter in the gloom. "I didn't know him personally. Not that I'd _want_ to know someone who killed thinking beings for sport, profit and fame. You've heard of him?"

Dustil coughed. "Well, only _of_ him. He was sort of held up as a, um, shining example to us, at the Academy. Uthar told us we could only aspire to such depths of bloodthirstiness and cruelty like Starkiller's."

Carth scowled at the mention of the late headmaster of the Sith Academy. It was a pity that Revan had been the one to do him in. He shook off his anger. It was petty and useless, at this late hour. "That was Starkiller's undoing, son. He met his match when he came up against Revan." He puffed a laugh that was nearly devoid of humor. "At least _this_ time I know where she went," he said cryptically.

Dustil cocked his head inquiringly at Carth. "What do you mean?"

Carth checked his blades and the opening to the alley. No one was likely to invade their space, Goorju's palace being far from any attractions that would interest idle spacers and smugglers. He settled himself into a comfortable at-ease pose, facing the alley entrance. He needed to distract himself from worrying over Revan anyway. Telling Dustil the story would pass the time, distract the both of them from the boredom of playing lookout and maybe even teach his son a lesson.

Carth thought about where to begin. "Well... this was all back on Taris. Bastila had been captured by a swoop gang, the Black Vulkars, when her escape pod crashed into the Undercity. She was alone and vulnerable, probably hurt in the crash, leaving her easy prey for the gang to take her prisoner."

Dustil blinked. "But isn't Bastila a Jedi? A particularly powerful one? How could she have been captured by ordinary thugs?"

Carth shrugged. "Just because she has battle meditation doesn't mean she can't be surprised and ambushed. She was overwhelmed while she was recovering from the rough landing, is my guess. She was captured and put up as the Black Vulkars' stake in the Tarisian annual swoop race opener.

"Anyway, Revan had to win the swoop race to rescue Bastila. She did, spectacularly. And let me tell you, my heart was in my throat from the moment she got into that deathtrap until she got off. She made one of the best times in Tarisian swoop racing history.

"Brejik, the leader of the Black Vulkars, wasn't any too pleased, and started a fight at the prize-giving ceremony. Revan kicked his ass, of course, and we finally got Bastila back.

"But we still had no way of getting off Taris. Canderous, of all people, answered our prayers. He came to Revan with an offer to steal his employer's smuggling ship. He'd been impressed by her swoop racing, and even more with her role in the fight afterwards. But the price was getting the launch codes to get past the Sith automated blockade defenses, and the only way to get them was from the Sith base. And the only way to get into the base was to get an astromech droid to hack through the front doors."

Dustil's eyes were wide. "You broke into a base crawling with Sith through the _front doors_?"

Carth grinned. "Yeah. It was the only way in, and Revan was in a hurry." His grin faded. "Unfortunately, we didn't have nearly enough credits to buy that droid. T3-M4 was pretty expensive, if well worth the price we paid for him. We all wracked our brains, trying to figure out how to raise the money, and getting nowhere. Revan told us to sleep on it, and we were pretty much exhausted by everything that had happened that day. So we all fell into exhausted slumber. Or so I had thought..."

_ Carth paced up and down the short length of their hideout on Taris, though his footfalls were so forceful, he was almost stomping. He passed by Bastila on his circuit around the room. _

_ It was a sign of the Jedi's own worry that she didn't scold him for not sitting down calmly. Her finger twirled a lock of her hair, in what he would have called a nervous gesture, if Bastila wasn't a Jedi. _

_ He ran his hand through his hair. His heart had gone cold when he had woken up and saw that Revan wasn't in her bed. A search of the apartment and the floor outside had turned up neither hide nor hair of the smuggler. Her vibroblades were gone, and so were some of their medical supplies. _

_ He wondered if he really had misjudged her. If she really had... betrayed him. Betrayed them all. He shook his head vigorously, trying to shake that idea out of his head. No, no, she couldn't have, otherwise the Sith would be breaking down their door right this minute. _

_ But where could she be? _

_ He wheeled around when he heard the doors open, hands dropping to the butts of his blasters. But it was only Mission and Zaalbar, back from their scouting. He hid his disappointment. He had hoped... "What did you two find out? Did you manage to find her?" _

_ Mission shook her head. "We only found out where she's been. Guess what, though? Someone called the Mysterious Stranger took down the all-time deathmatch duel champion, Bendak Starkiller! That guy's killed more people than the plague! Everyone in the cantina was talking about it." _

_ Carth's face paled. Bendak Starkiller was famous the galaxy over for always killing his opponents. That he was now dead... He remembered Revan thinking about Ajuur's offer to enter the dueling ring, but she had turned it down. 'Mysterious Stranger' would have been her duel name. _

_ "She must've entered the duels in the cantina... 'Mysterious Stranger' was her stage name, and since you're telling me Starkiller's dead, she, she must be alive," Carth said to the young scoundrel. He didn't know if he was trying to comfort Mission or himself. "Did you find out anything else?" _

_ Mission shook her head, looking dejected at her lack of information. "No. Just that the Mysterious Stranger shot up through the ranks like a comet, taking down everyone, one after another, without even stopping. She's... she's okay, right?" she asked Carth worriedly. _

_ "I would know if anything happened to her," Bastila offered unexpectedly. _

_ Carth turned to the Jedi in surprise. "How? How could you know?" _

_ Bastila shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "I would... feel a disturbance in the Force." _

_ Carth raised his eyebrows. "Huh? But she's not a Jedi. I thought only Jedi could leave disturbances in the Force, when they died." _

_ "We... we worked closely enough on the _Endar Spire_ for me to be able to sense her," Bastila said. _

_ Carth looked dubiously at Bastila. If he didn't know better, he would've said she looked evasive. As if she were hiding something. He shrugged. _More Jedi mumbo jumbo.

_ Carth started pacing again. "I'm... I'm sure she's alright, Mission. Damn the infuriating woman. She leaves without saying a word, making me--us--all worry. Where could she be?" _

_ Bastila rubbed her forehead. "She could be on her way back right now. I shall definitely have words with her about this." _

_ Carth looked at the time display. "If she's not back in another hour, we're going out to look for her--" He stopped speaking when he heard someone whistling a familiar tune outside the hideout. He opened the doors and yanked a surprised Revan into the apartment. _

_ "Where have you _been_?" Carth exclaimed as he took Revan by the upper arms and shook her. He only just managed not to shout at her. _

_ "Um, good morning, Carth," Revan said mildly. Something beeped behind her. She turned her head. "No, he's not hurting me. No need for that stun ray, thanks." _

_ Carth looked over Revan's shoulder to see an astromech droid had followed her in. He was so glad, angry and relieved to see her, he hadn't even noticed. "Isn't that...?" _

_ "The droid Canderous told us to get? Uh-huh. T3-M4, the man giving me such a warm welcome is Carth. The Wookiee over there is Zaalbar, beside him is Mission, and the lady sitting over there looking constipated is Bastila." Revan ignored the outraged noise Bastila made. "Welcome to our humble, very humble, home." _

_ Revan stared down at Carth's hands, where they still gripped her arms, until he took the broad hint to let her go. She gave him a dry look and went to perch on the workbench, for all the world like a queen surveying her subjects. _

_ Mission looked at the tableau. "Uh, me and Big Z'll just go out and grab some breakfast, 'kay?" No one noticed the pair slip out. _

_ Carth stalked over to the workbench and stood in front of Revan, hands on his hips. "Where have you _been_? You had us all worried sick, you know that? You shouldn't leave without telling one of us!" _

_ Bastila stood and went to stand beside Carth. "Carth's right. It was extremely irresponsible of you to just up and leave without telling us." _

_ "Thought I went to spill the beans to the Sith, huh?" Revan asked Carth, arching an eyebrow. She smirked when he shuffled uncomfortably. "Last time I looked, Onasi, I'm not in your chain of command. I'd like to think I can handle myself without you looking over my shoulder." _

_ "You are in mine, however," interjected Bastila. "Need I remind you of the deal the Republic generously offered to you?" _

_ Revan stared impassively at Bastila. "I suppose I am, _Madame Fleet Commander_." She put such sardonic deference into Bastila's title, it bordered on insolent insult. Bastila's eyes narrowed at the impudence, and her lips thinned. _

_ Revan noticed Carth's lips twitch briefly before he brought his face back under control. "I swore an oath that I'd help you. Although I'm not sure if jail wouldn't have been safer." She took out a large bag full of credits and shoved it at Carth. _

_ Carth took the bag automatically. He raised his eyebrows when he felt how heavy the purse was, impressed despite himself. _

_ "I don't know what you're so upset about. I was out working on a way to get us off this rock, after all. We didn't have nearly enough credits to buy Kang's droid, so I went out and got some. No need to thank me or give me a medal or anything," Revan said sarcastically. She handed a blaster pistol to Carth. "Oh, and here's a present for you, Onasi." _

_ Carth examined the gun. It was an upgradeable pistol, of a very fine make. 'Bendak' was etched on the grip. A series of notches marred the black matte finish. Bendak's way of counting coup, he guessed. _

_ "But why didn't you just tell us where you were going?" Bastila was asking with a frown. _

_ Revan crossed her arms on her chest. "I got the idea of dueling for credits in the middle of the night. You were all sleeping so peacefully, I didn't have the heart to wake you. So I took advantage of my insomnia and went to do something constructive." _

_ Carth put the pistol down on the workbench. "You could've just left us a message." _

_ "I thought it better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Especially when I decided to take down Bendak Starkiller." Revan looked at Carth and Bastila with an eyebrow raised. She was quite certain what their reactions would have been to _that_ announcement. _

_ "Starkiller only did deathmatches. I wouldn't have fancied pulling out your corpse from the ring," Carth said quietly. _

_ Revan shrugged. "If anyone here's expendable, it's me. No one needs an ex-smuggler cramping their style. I don't see where I had much choice, anyway. Even after taking down the reigning champion, Twitch, I still didn't have enough. Short of selling my body in the more traditional manner, I didn't see any other way of getting more credits." _

_ "You're _not_ expendable! We would _never_ have gotten this far without you!" Carth said vehemently. _

_ Revan looked at Carth, surprised at his outburst. "Why, thank you for your kind words, Carth. But it's nothing less than the truth." _

_ "Carth's right. You're an important part of this team. Your loss could mean the failure of this entire mission," Bastila said. _

_ Revan shook her head. "I'm just a smuggler, Bastila. An ex-smuggler, at that. I'm no Jedi, I'm no war hero. I'm a nobody who got caught up because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time." _

_ Bastila waved Revan's remark away. "The Force saw fit to work through a 'nobody'. And you are most definitely _not_ a 'nobody'. Please... just, next time, let us know what you're planning. We are all part of a team, and our effectiveness would be greatly lessened if one of us went off by themselves. None of us could have done all this alone. Not Carth, not me and not you." _

_ Carth nodded. "Will you promise me you won't run off half-cocked and alone again? I meant it, when I said we couldn't have done all of this without you. We really couldn't have. I thought, I thought you considered us your friends. You wouldn't want us going crazy and out of our minds with worry if you ran off without telling us, would you?" _

_ Revan was blinking at him owlishly. He was interrupted in mid-harangue when she slowly toppled off the workbench, as silently and as majestically as a tree. He caught her before she hit the floor. Blood had pooled behind her on the bench. _

_ "Hey... hey!" Carth blurted as his arms went around Revan. He felt something wet and sticky on her back. He stared in horror over her shoulder at his bloody hand. "Shit!" he lapsed involuntarily into profanity. _

_ "Over here!" Bastila beckoned to him, pointing at the bed. _

_ Carth took Revan up in his arms and carried her nearly-weightless body to the pallet, laying her facedown on the rumpled sheets. Bastila sat down by her side on the bed. _

_ Bastila rolled up the Echani fiber armor Revan wore, revealing a long, still-bleeding slash on her back. _

_ "Is it a normal feature of Tarisian apartments for the room to be spinning slowly around?" Revan asked muzzily, her voice muffled. _

_ "Shh, don't try to talk," Carth said softly. _

_ Bastila laid her hand on the wound and called on the Force. The bleeding edges of Revan's skin slowly knit themselves together under Bastila's ministrations. _

_ "Oh. That feels nice. Lots better than sticking myself with a medpac." Revan lay limply. _

_ "Perhaps this will teach you not to run off by yourself next time," Bastila scolded gently. She used a wet cloth Carth had handed to her to wipe away the blood. _

_ Carth knelt by the pallet. Revan turned her head to blink at him. "I guess Bendak got me a good one. I thought I had taken care of it." A lock of hair had fallen into her eyes. _

_ Carth put a hand on the pillow, not quite daring to brush the hair out of her face, not while Bastila looked on. "Look, just, just promise me you won't do that again, going off alone without telling us. Please?" _

_ Revan pulled her arm from where it lay limply at her side and patted Carth's hand clumsily. "Fine, fine. If it makes you feel better, I promise I won't go off alone." She closed her eyes and yawned. _

_ "You haven't slept all night, and you fought all those duels. You must be exhausted," Bastila said softly. _

_ "None of your Jedi mind tricks are necessary, Bastila," Revan mumbled. _

_ "Hmph. I only want you to get some sleep." Bastila shook her head. _

_ "Mmn," was Revan's only reply. _

_ Bastila stood and wiped the blood from her hands. "I'm going out to get some more medical supplies from Doctor Forn. You stay and watch over her, Carth." She took some credits from Revan's purse and swept out through the doors. _

_ Carth peered at the doors, making sure Bastila had really left. No one else was in the apartment, except for T3-M4. Revan had fallen asleep the moment Bastila had made her exit. _

_ He raised his other hand and gently brushed the hair off her forehead, out of her eyes. He covered her with a blanket and listened to her deep, steady breathing. _

_ "Infuriating woman..." he muttered. _

_ But he did not take his hand out from hers. _

Dustil looked thoughtful. "I _thought_ I'd heard her right last night in the swoop hangar. She _had_ been speaking from experience, when she said I had learned a hard lesson without getting hurt too badly."

Carth nodded. "Yeah, she's been there before. She never went off alone again, if she had a choice, after that episode."

Dustil looked up at a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. "Look!"

Carth looked up from his watch of the alley entrance to see Revan rapelling down from the window, using a coil of thin but strong cord she had taken with her. He looked at his chrono, to see that nearly an hour and a half had passed while he had been speaking. "That was quick."

Revan ran up to them, after jerking the anchoring hook loose from the windowsill. "Come on, let's get back to the ship."

Carth raised an eyebrow at her hastiness. "Okay. Dustil, you take the swoop again. We'll meet you back at the ship."

Dustil nodded and headed for the swoop parked nearby. Revan took Carth's hand and ran off, the Force speeding their steps.

This time Dustil was the first one to arrive back at the _Ebon Hawk_, though he beat Carth and Revan by only a few minutes.

"So, what did you find out?" Dustil asked, once Revan and Carth had walked up the ramp.

Revan perched herself on the workbench. "Nothing much, unfortunately. Goorju has abysmal record keeping, and not because he has a separate set of books. He has absolutely nothing on his buyers in his records. All I found out was that they _were_ Sith, but whether they're attached to the _Thanatos_ or not, I don't know." She sighed.

"Did you have much trouble breaking in?" Carth asked. "You went in and out pretty quickly."

Revan shook her head. "Breaking into his computer security was a piece of cake. It was sneaking around his patrols that was hard. I'm glad you two weren't following around behind me. We would've roused the entire security force."

Carth shrugged. "Neither of us are the quiet, sneaky types, I guess. So, does this mean our business on this moon is concluded? We can get the hell off and on our way? If we've got no reason to stay, then we might as well head to the next planet on our list. How about Sluis Van?" he suggested.

Revan shrugged. "I certainly have no objection."

"Yeah, I mean, we've seen all there is to see to this place," Dustil added.

Carth straightened and started to walk out of the swoop hangar. "Then how about we make our getaway right now? You can go turn in, Dustil, if you like."

"All right. I'd like to get out of my armor and take a shower. That alley was pretty whiffy." Dustil waved and left, heading for the refresher.

Carth and Revan headed to the cockpit and started the preflight checks. Soon they were lifting off and moving away from the Smuggler's Moon, weaving between incoming and outgoing ships, until they entered hyperspace.

* * *

A big thanks to the new reviewers of my humble little story! Thanks Squeaky231968, Bustin, arrow maker, Falastur, Leelah-de-la-Peelah, Arrikazza, Trunxluvr82190 and Mystress Deidra!

Squeaky231968, thank you for your very, very kind words. I'm glad you're enjoying the flashbacks. And you'll see a bit more of Bastila, never fear. In fact, you see a little more of her in this very chapter. :)


	25. Arrival

**Chapter 25: Arrival**

Sluis Van was a system dedicated to shipbuilding. Orbital shipyards surrounded the planet, also called Sluis Van, and starships in all stages of repair and construction sat in docking slips.

"I want to commission some work here at one of the slips," Revan said conversationally, as she sipped caffa in the co-pilot's seat.

Carth turned to look at her, surprised. "What? On the _Ebon Hawk_? What more do you think we need?"

Revan nodded. "BR-01 did great with the new paint job and adding more sensors to change the silhouette, but I'd like to add another turret, with firing controls placed in the helm. And upgrade our existing cannons to the heaviest ones we can get. Should change the silhouette even more."

Carth raised his eyebrows. "More firepower? Are you thinking we'll run into that kind of trouble out here?"

Revan shook her head and shrugged. "Not so much in expectation as being prepared. The Outer Rim's a pretty wild and unruly region, and that's before the wars stirred it up. And with the Sith retreating from the Core Worlds back to the Rim, well, I'd just like to give the _Hawk_ some bigger teeth."

"No complaints from me on that."

"How long do you think the work would take?"

"If we go to a reputable yard, it should take around, um, two weeks. Give or take."

"Know of one?"

Carth thought for a moment, as he ran names through his head. "There's a big one the Republic uses--Vosaryk Shipyards, I think they're called. They do civilian work, too." He looked dubiously at Revan. "But can we afford it? Work like that takes a hefty amount of credits, and they'll want some kind of payment in advance."

"Sure. We're plenty flush right now, what with the monetary gifts the Senate bestowed upon us, the spoils we sold off to Suvam before he had to leave ahead of those Trandoshans and the payment OFI's giving us for this job."

Carth brought them down to one of the planet's many spaceports, one located in the capital, while Revan used the time to contact a Vosaryk representative to negotiate work on the _Ebon Hawk_. Fortunately, the shipyard had just completed most of their last building projects, and the slip was free to take on new work.

He listened with half his attention to Revan's expert haggling, his lips twitching. Even over the com Revan was able to bring the full force of her charm and personality upon the unsuspecting sales rep to bargain for the best price she could get, shaving off a not insignificant number of credits off the rep's starting price.

Dustil wandered into the cockpit, looking out curiously at the expanding view of the planet of Sluis Van through the viewscreen. "So what's Sluis Van like?"

"Shipbuilders, mostly, their main specialty and export. They're a pretty laid-back people, and they've always supported the Republic. The Sith never dared to attack this system, because they've got a pretty substantial navy and orbital defenses. No surprise, given what they specialize in," Carth replied.

"It should be safer and cleaner than Nar Shaddaa. I'm commissioning some work on the _Ebon Hawk_, so we'll be here at least a couple of weeks," Revan added.

Dustil looked hopeful. "I'd like to breathe air that hasn't been recycled."

Revan grinned while Carth chuckled. "I think that's a hint for us to turn you loose, isn't it?" Carth asked, looking amused.

Dustil shrugged. "I do want to do a little sightseeing."

Revan gave Dustil a knowing look. Dustil wrinkled his nose at her, making her smile. "We've still got work to do here," she reminded him.

Dustil nodded. "I know. I'll do my part."

"I didn't doubt that. And there's less work to do than you think. There're only three informants we have to contact here. We'll each meet with one, and then the rest of the time's yours. What say you?" Revan asked.

"I say that'd be great!" Dustil said excitedly.

"But once these two weeks are over, it's back to lessons, son. Enjoy your holiday while you still can," Carth said.

Dustil sighed at the qualifier. Revan shrugged at him sympathetically.

Carth landed the _Ebon Hawk_ in a vacant docking bay. "Well, we're here. Sluis Van. We'll have to find some local lodgings, since we won't be able to sleep on the ship while they're making repairs and modifications to her at the yard."

Revan nodded. "Right. We'll ask at the portmaster's office for the name of a decent hotel. The Vosaryk rep said we could bring the _Hawk_ to the yard as early as tomorrow, so we'll have plenty of time to find a nice place to stay."


	26. Rescue

**Chapter 26: Rescue**

Dustil walked a little ahead of Carth and Revan along the thoroughfare, which was crowded with people of all races, though the native Sluissi were the most numerous. He stared around at the sights, taking in as much as he could.

It was their third day in the capital city of Sluis Van. They had already met with all of the informants located on the planet, and now were simply waiting for the shipyard to complete the modifications to the _Ebon Hawk_. As Carth had predicted, it would take approximately two weeks for the job to be finished.

Revan and Carth watched in amusement as Dustil played the goggle-eyed tourist. Still, they were also running visual sweeps of their surroundings constantly, both having experienced the unpleasantness of ambushes both before, and after, the Star Forge.

Which was why both Carth and Revan caught the distant sounds of blaster fire and saw bolts flying in the distance at the same time.

Dustil felt hands on both of his arms, and then he was yanked unceremoniously behind a nearby building's support column. "What--?" Revan had grabbed him on one side, Carth on the other.

"Somebody's blasting," Carth explained tersely. He huddled behind another column, hand clenching on the hilt of the sword at his waist, peering cautiously out in the direction of the shooting.

Dustil put one hand on a blaster, comforted a little by its presence. The crowds of people in their immediate vicinity had not yet noticed, but he could hear panicked shouts and cries further away, along with the sounds of blaster fire.

The noise of an air speeder, its engines whining in distress, reached their ears. Dustil wrinkled his nose as the wind blew the smell of acrid, oily smoke and burning metal his way. And then they saw it, along with the rest of the crowd. People scrambled and ran away in fear.

The air speeder's riders were blasting back at something Dustil couldn't see, but they couldn't have had much luck in their aim, because the speeder was swooping around erratically and shaking. Smoke streamed from the engines, and Dustil thought he saw flames licking out the back.

The driver managed to land the speeder on the now-empty thoroughfare before the repulsorlift cut out altogether. The speeder plowed into the ground, throwing up sparks as metal scraped, screeching to a shaky halt on the permacrete.

The riders piled out immediately, and then Dustil saw one of them grab what looked like an unconscious body from the backseat and haul it over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of long platinum hair and feminine limbs flopping down the man's back.

Dustil turned to Revan and Carth, about to ask them if they could intervene, when he saw the significant glance pass between them. They had a deep rapport with each other he had yet to develop, but he should've known that neither his father nor Revan would ignore the situation developing in front of them.

Carth turned to Dustil. "Stay here and cover us. We'll go stop them, but set your blasters to stun. We're strangers here, and the police won't appreciate offworlders leaving dead bodies behind, no matter how altruistic the cause."

Dustil nodded. "Be careful," he said, to both of them. His hands were already adjusting the power settings on his pistols. Revan flashed him a confident grin, while his father smiled.

Revan called on the Force to surround the three of them in protective shells before darting out from behind her cover towards the apparent kidnappers, who were already starting to run away.

Dustil's blaster fire attracted their attention when he dropped one of the men in the back of the ten-man group with a direct shot to the head. Four of them turned, to see Carth and Revan bearing down on them in a flanking maneuver.

The surprise on their faces turned to sneering contempt at the sight of these obviously-crazy people who were outnumbered nine-to-two. To three, if they counted Dustil. They opened fire while the other five in their group broke off and ran with the girl.

Revan held her forearms up protectively in front of her face, the blaster fire washing harmlessly onto her gauntlets, never pausing in her run. Carth, having no such protection, simply ignored the blaster fire coming his way, trusting in Revan's Force defense and his armor, shrugging off any shots that managed to hit him as he dodged and zigzagged from side to side.

Revan had unbuckled one of the vibroblades at her side and wielded it like a short club, not bothering to unsheathe it. She knocked aside the blaster from one man's hand with the tip, then flipped up the pommel to smash in his face. She kicked him in the stomach, and brought the sword down onto the back of his head when he bent over from the blow, knocking him out.

Carth eschewed the finesse of Revan's tactics, crashing directly into the middle of the group, knocking off balance three of them with his charge. Carth's lariat strikes threw two of them hard to the ground. One man's gun hand was crushed beneath Carth's grinding heel, while another one had his ribs caved in by the soldier's swift, vicious kick. Neither were killing blows, but they were quite incapacitated by their injuries. Carth struck them both in the temples with the hilt of one of his swords.

Revan had crouched by the third one Carth had knocked down, and administered two short, sharp raps to the back of his head with her scabbarded sword, rendering him unconscious. She leapt up to follow the five running off with the girl in the distance, Carth on her heels. Dustil ventured out from behind his shelter to run after them, pausing only to double-tap the fallen men in their heads, just in case. Then he rushed off hastily after his father.

The crowds had dispersed in panic from the thoroughfare, but several blocks away they still filled the streets, ignorant of the fight that had ocurred just a short distance away.

The kidnappers were running down a long flight of ancient-looking stairs, possibly a holdover from some distant time of the city when repulsorlift had not yet been in wide use. They pushed aside the people in their way roughly.

Revan, as she followed, eeling along through the crowds rather than pushing people aside, thought that these men were most probably professionals. Four had remained as a rearguard, to slow down and stop her and Carth, while the other five had run off to accomplish their mission. She studied their disposition even as she pelted after them.

Two were in the back, most likely to spot and stop any pursuit. Two were in front, outriders to clear a path for the fifth, who was in the protected center, carrying the girl slung over his shoulder.

Revan had nearly reached the stairs, Carth only a few steps behind. She looked around, dismayed by the press of bodies. The crowd had thinned somewhat, trying to get away from the armed men shoving people aside violently, but the kidnappers had already reached the middle of the stairs. The crowd had closed up behind the running men like water flowing back into a hole, and she and Carth would be slowed even more if they tried to repeat the kidnappers' methods.

Then she wouldn't use the same methods.

She ran faster, and hopped up onto the banister of the stairs. She bent her knees, hunching her body, and began to slide down the rail. She held out her arms to either side to keep her balance.

Carth saw Revan taking the shortcut, and shook his head. There was no way he could imitate her move. He resheathed his swords and ran through the crowd, moving between people as fast as he could, though he tried to be gentler with his shoves.

Revan slid down the rail like a surfer on a board, the wind of her passage sweeping her hair back, the beads clacking musically. The men in the rearguard spotted her and brought up their blasters, but she was a small, rapidly-moving target, and what bolts did hit her were absorbed by her gauntlets.

She knocked one man down with a strike to his stomach, driving in the point of her scabbard like a lance as she ducked under his outstretched arm. The man went down, all the wind driven out of him. The other man was struck in the head with the pommel on the backstroke, sending him reeling, though not unconscious. She continued her slide down the rail.

Carth was happy to take care of that small detail, though, when he finally reached them. The crowd had melted away when the men had fired on Revan, so his progress down the stairs was no longer hindered. He caught one of them by the back of his collar and slammed his forehead down onto the banister. The man bounced back and fell, and did not move.

The other was wheezing, but had meanwhile recovered his blaster. It did him no good, because a hand like durasteel clamped down on his wrist and twisted. The man screamed as his wrist bones cracked and broke. He looked up into the scarred, most evil-looking face he'd ever seen, until the stranger brought his fist up and punched him, sending him into blessed oblivion.

Revan continued her wild slide down the rail, coming up on the man carrying what she could now see was a woman. She frowned. She had to stop the man quickly; they might have orders to kill their target if they couldn't carry out the kidnapping. The man had not yet noticed that his rearguard had been routed.

Revan jumped off the banister, using her momentum to propel her through the air in a somersault that brought both of her feet into the man's back, though she was careful not to also kick the woman. The man staggered forward, windmilling his free arm, trying to keep his feet on the stairs. He lurched forward and lost his balance, sprawling untidily. He had reflexively released the woman, throwing out his hands to stop himself from hitting the steps. The woman slid off his back to land bonelessly next to him.

Revan literally pounced on the man, her feet again hitting his back, the force of her landing pitching him facefirst to the steps and driving all of the breath out of his lungs. She delivered two sharp raps to the back of his head with her sword, and he slumped quietly back down.

The outriders had by now noticed that their fellows were no longer following them. They swarmed back up the stairs, intent on completing their mission, only to see Revan hovering protectively over the fallen woman.

The two men snarled and brought up their blasters as they raced up. Revan dropped to one knee, shielding the woman from their fire as best she could, holding her arms up in front of herself, slapping away bolts if they came near to hitting the other woman.

A blaster bolt hit one of the men in the shoulder, and he grunted in pain, falling back. The other glanced up to see Dustil shooting his blasters down from the high ground, but he continued on in the face of the fire.

Revan wondered at that determination. Their tenacity would've been commendable if she weren't on the receiving end of it, but what could buy such loyalty? Surely credits were insufficient. Or not... quite a good many people would do anything for the right price. For the level of skill these kidnappers had shown, it was not unreasonable to assume they had been paid a _lot_ of credits for this job. _Just who is this woman?_

Carth had arrived, and his vibroblade licked out, stabbing the man's blaster hand with an economical thrust, making him drop his gun. Revan judged it safe enough to leave the woman where she lay to go on the offensive. She lunged up from her crouch to engage the other man, who had recovered somewhat from his blaster wound.

Revan brought her sword up in an underhand swing, hitting the man's arm so that his aim was thrown off. The blaster in his hand shot harmlessly at the empty sky. Her foot drove up into stomach. He bent over as all the air was driven out of him, as her kick nearly ruptured his diaphragm with the force of her blow. She brought the pommel of her blade straight up into the soft underside of his chin, snapping his head back. She swept his legs out from under him as he reeled, dropping him hard to the steps. He rolled down, before slithering to a halt on a small landing, and lay still.

Carth had already dealt with his own opponent, who was lying at his feet, groaning, his face bloody from a smashed nose. He lay curled up, and Revan thought she discerned the raspy, bubbling breathing of a man with broken ribs.

Revan moved immediately to the woman, who was still sprawled on the steps where she had left her. Quickly, Revan checked the woman's pulse and breathing. "_Damn_," she breathed.

"What is it?" Carth asked. He rummaged in his pouch and came up with a medpac, which he held out to her.

Revan took the medpac and shook her head. "This isn't good... her heartbeat's irregular." She heard Dustil clattering down the steps as she injected the medpac into the woman's upper arm.

The woman convulsed and started to thrash around, flailing her limbs around.

"Aw, damn!" Carth crouched and grabbed the woman's arms. "This is bringing back bad memories..." he muttered. Revan shot him an inquiring look. "You were like this, before you woke up, on Taris."

Revan's mouth formed an _O_ of understanding. She frowned. The medpac was having no apparent effect, as the woman was still convulsing. Then the woman went limp abruptly.

Revan hissed. "Damn! She's not breathing! And her heart's stopped!"


	27. Restart

**Chapter 27: Restart**

Carth cursed under his breath. All that effort to apprehend the kidnappers, for nothing. He hoped the Sluissi had good harsh penalties for kidnappers-turned-murderers. He let go of the woman's limp wrists, folding them back gently along her sides.

Revan inhaled sharply as a thought struck her. _It's desperate, but it just might work..._ She reached unerringly behind her and grabbed Dustil's hand, yanking him down.

"Huh?" Dustil stared at Revan in bewilderment, as he was suddenly pulled down into a crouch beside her. He looked down at the body of the woman. She would've been rather pretty, if her face wasn't bruised and slack.

"Dustil, remember when you called lightning?" Revan asked urgently.

Dustil's lips thinned. "How could I forget? I--" Revan shook his arm, interrupting him.

"We don't have time for self-recriminations! I want you to do it again, on her!" Revan pointed at the prone woman.

Carth blinked at Revan, baffled. "What? But isn't she...?"

Dustil gaped. "_What?_ But it's a power that draws on the Dark Side!" Carth nodded vigorously in agreement.

Revan puffed in exasperation. "Just do it! We only have eight minutes before brain death occurs!" A tone of command entered her voice, the kind master sergeants could only hope to have. "Do it, Dustil. Clear your mind. Like any tool, it's a power that is good or evil depending on the use you put it to. You're not doing this out of anger, but out of deliberate, calm action. You can restart her heart! I can't do it, I've never learned how."

Carth looked worriedly at his son, but nodded his agreement. "Son, if you can do something to help this woman..."

Dustil took a deep breath and placed his hand hesitantly on the woman's chest, over her heart. He recited the Jedi Code to himself, under his breath. Strange how it seemed more... right, to him, than the Sith Code ever did. Probably because the Sith Code was a twisted bastardization of the Jedi Code. He felt Revan put a supporting hand on his shoulder. His heartrate calmed, his breathing became steady and slow. He gathered the Force and shaped it carefully, very carefully, with his will. It couldn't be too much, nor too little.

The woman's body jerked as Dustil sent a carefully-measured jolt of electricity into her heart, his hand glowing briefly.

Revan checked the woman's pulse. She shook her head. "Again!"

Dustil gathered his power and sent another jolt, a slightly stronger one this time, into the woman's chest. He hoped he wasn't doing more damage than good.

Revan's face lit. "It worked!" Carth and Dustil breathed out simultaneous sighs of relief. She pinched the woman's nose shut with one hand and started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Carth squeezed his son's shoulder. "That was a good thing you did, son. I'm very proud of you," he said quietly.

Dustil smiled shakily. He had just used a Dark Side power to revive someone technically dead... Using a power that was so aggressively destructive--to give life... Maybe he had more to learn about the Force than he'd thought. He resolved to think on it a lot more later. For now, the wonder of it shook him a little, inside.

The woman coughed and took in a long, shaky breath. Revan took the medpac Carth handed to her and injected it. The woman's pale cheeks slowly regained their color. Dustil felt Revan use the Force to augment the medpac's healing properties.

The woman opened her eyes. Dustil was struck by the unusual color; they were a shade of gray that was almost silver. "What...?" she croaked weakly.

Revan leaned over her and touched her lightly on her arm. "Don't try to move too quickly, take it easy. You're safe for the moment." Carth stood and prudently moved to stand behind the woman, so that his disguised appearance wouldn't alarm her.

The woman sat up slowly with Revan's help, and looked around at the fallen men. "Oh... I--those men... they had been sent to capture me..."

Revan breathed a mental sigh of relief. They had jumped to conclusions, but it was good to know they had jumped to the _right_ conclusion.

Running footsteps and the sounds of several speeders approaching interrupted Revan's thoughts. She tensed, bringing up her still-sheathed sword, as-if casually. Carth's hand dropped to the blade at his waist, and Dustil loosened the blasters in his holsters.

The woman waved a hand frantically at her rescuers. "No, no, they are my people..." The effort seemed to tire her unduly. Revan and Dustil helped the woman to stand. She leaned heavily on their shoulders.

Men and women in some sort of livery ran down the steps to them. Revan took note of the blaster rifles they held ready at hand. These people were probably the ones the kidnappers had been fighting. The drivers were moving their speeders recklessly down the incline.

A portly old man staggered out of a speeder and puffed up to the woman, grabbing her hands. "Lady, Lady, are you all right?" he asked breathlessly. He took in her ashen face, lined with pain and fatigue, which answered his question. He beckoned hastily to two guards, who slung their rifles on their backs and went over to Revan and Dustil, who released the woman into their gentle hands.

The woman smiled wanly as she was half-carried to another speeder, where more liveried retainers were waiting to receive their lady. "I'm fine, Bekim, I'm fine, thanks to these three..." She waved a hand at Revan, Dustil and Carth.

Bekim blinked at Carth's less-than-respectable appearance, but made no comment on it, other than a slight look of alarm betraying his uneasiness. He bowed deeply to the three of them. "I thank you, I thank you, for rescuing my lady from those kidnappers! I am sure my lord would wish to meet you and offer a handsome reward for your efforts. Oh, please forgive me, I know not your names."

Revan shook her head. She decided to avoid the question of their names, for now. "No thanks are necessary, nor a reward. We didn't do what we did for the hope of compensation." She turned to the woman, who was now being fussed over by her attendants. "We don't even know who you are, Lady...?"

Bekim's bushy eyebrows climbed up his forehead in surprise. "You don't know...? Oh, but you must be newly-come offworlders!" He gestured respectfully to the woman. "This is Lady Versenne of House Vosaryk."

Revan and Carth raised their eyebrows. She had _thought_ those uniforms looked familiar. The logo of the House was emblazoned on their breasts, the same logo as the shipyard where they had docked the _Ebon Hawk_ for weapons upgrades.

Dustil looked overawed. _Whoa. She's a lady! Practically nobility!_

Bekim was beckoning them all to a speeder. Lady Versenne was already comfortably ensconced in the backseat of another larger, more luxurious one, attendants moving busily around her as they checked her health and cleaned her up as much as they could in such a public area.

More speeders arrived, blocking the stairs at the lower end, this time full of reporters, holo crews and their recording equipment. Bekim looked disapprovingly at them and motioned a squad of alert, blaster-armed guards to intercept the swarming tide of the press. Undaunted, the reporters started shouting questions, and holo cameras were pointed at the group just beyond the line of grim-faced guards.

Revan rubbed the side of her nose and sneezed. Carth raised an eyebrow as he heard the pops and zaps of equipment dying noisily, followed by cries of dismay as reporters and holo crews found their equipment had suffered sudden inexplicable and irreparable breakdowns. He didn't bother to turn around, instead staring inquiringly down at her. Revan returned him a bland, innocent look. Which he wasn't buying. At all.

Bekim waved his pudgy hands at the three to a waiting speeder. "Please, please, do come with us. My lord would wish to hear all the details of this incident." Lady Versenne nodded her own encouragement and smiled brightly, looking a bit revived under the ministrations of her attendants.

Dustil felt his heart melt, looking at that brilliant smile.

Revan looked at Carth, who shrugged. She decided not to offend, however slightly, what looked like a possibly powerful figure of authority on the planet. "I suppose there'd be no harm in it. We've got nothing else to do." She noticed another speeder had collected the groaning bodies of the kidnappers, with vigilant guards standing watch over them. They didn't look as if they had been loaded gently.

Bekim beamed at her agreement. The guards looked uncertainly and nervously at Carth, who ignored them all with great dignity, though his lips quirked very briefly as he settled into the speeder. He didn't seem to know that his scars made the momentary smile look like a disdainful sneer, which didn't relieve the watching guards at all.

Revan hid a smile and sat next to Carth, Dustil moving to sit on his father's other side. He never took his eyes off Lady Versenne. She nudged Carth surreptitiously and jerked her chin at Dustil. Carth's mouth twitched up on one side at the sight.

The entire cavalcade of speeders swept around and back up the stairs, leaving the reporters milling around in confusion.

* * *

More thanks to reviewers Feza, raena and Sera Terranova! Keep'em coming, folks! They're much appreciated!

Sera Terranova: Hm, I thought I'd made it clear that Revan isn't _quite_ as strong as she seems, but let's you and I talk about it in an online chat or something.


	28. Appreciation

**Chapter 28: Appreciation**

The speeders traveled towards a tower located in the wealthy section of the capital. The modern lines of the building stood out in sharp contrast to its squat, shorter neighbors, which showed a different style of architecture, that of an earlier era.

Dustil noticed Carth staring up and around thoughtfully. He thought his father was just looking curiously at the buildings, but his steady gaze was actually focused on distant high-flying vehicles. Dustil peered more closely at them, himself. The moving dots weren't those of random speeders, he realized, but ones that were following them. They came closer, and he saw that they were emblazoned with the House Vosaryk logo. The sleek lines of the craft betrayed their lethal purpose, with suspicious protrusions and apertures located in the sides and front.

He peered forward at the speeder carrying Lady Versenne. It was surrounded by the other speeders, placing it in the protected middle. All he could see from his vantage point was the back of her head, but she seemed slumped in her cushions, passively allowing her servitors to fuss over her.

Dustil turned to Revan, speaking behind his father's head. "Do you think she'll be okay? Those seizures she had were pretty... scary." He tried to sound nonchalant.

Revan smiled reassuringly. "Considering that she was technically a corpse for a little while, she's doing remarkably well." She thought on his question. "I suspect her seizures were a delayed allergic reaction to whatever sedative those kidnappers used. She'll be fine when they're flushed out of her system." Her smile turned into a grin. "Thanks to you, she's alive to appreciate your efforts."

Dustil smiled back, vaguely. "Yeah... wow." He still felt awed. He stared down at his hand, the one he'd used to restart a dead woman's heart. _Surreal._ That's what it felt like. _Surreal._

Carth smiled approvingly at him. "I hope you're not too tired of hearing me say this, but... I'm proud of you."

Dustil grinned at his father. "Thanks..." He chuckled weakly. "I'm not tired of it, no."

_Wow. I've just saved someone's life... Wow._ He couldn't seem to think about anything else. His hands shook a little, not all of it delayed reaction from the battle. He touched a shaking hand to his brow. It had been a profoundly strange and... wonderful experience. One he wouldn't forget in a hurry.

Carth and Revan looked at the blitzed expression on Dustil's face, and gave each other little smiles. Carth gripped his son's shoulder and squeezed.

Dustil wondered if this... this _euphoria_ was what Carth and Revan felt _all the time_. It was no wonder that they went out of their way to help people they didn't even know, though he knew they did good deeds for the principle, and not for the accolades that would follow.

It was so different to the feelings of superiority he'd experienced, back at the Sith Academy, when he'd used his status as a student to bully people in Dreshdae. Maybe... maybe doing good wasn't a sign of weakness as Uthar had taught him. Maybe a lot of what Uthar had taught were just as wrong...

They arrived at the tower, and were received into a spacious garage on a lower level. The speeders surrounding the one carrying Lady Versenne flew in with a practiced ease, flying in formation. Dustil noticed the kidnappers being bundled away into a discreet side entrance. Revan was looking speculatively after them.

"Huh. I guess the police won't be looking into this. It's probably been deemed an internal House matter," she whispered to Dustil and Carth.

"You mean the police won't care?" Dustil asked, a little baffled. That was a rather strange way of doing things, but this _was_ a foreign world, with foreign rules and laws.

Revan pursed her lips. "Not so much caring as not overstepping their jurisdiction. The House takes care of its own, and deals with any enemies it has on its own. No outsiders would be permitted to see their weaknesses, only retainers sworn to its service."

Carth frowned disapprovingly. "Makes it pretty hard on any regular citizens who happen to get caught in the middle."

"It would--if it weren't for the Sluissi. They're a pretty laid-back folk, but no one would be eager to push them. They own the Sluissi Orbital Shipyards, and if they wanted to, they could run the non-Sluissi businesses right out of town, just by using carefully-calculated sanctions and restrictions. So the smart Houses would be careful not to step on anyone's toes, or at least make sure none of their indiscretions come to light." Revan shrugged.

Carth grunted. "So the Houses keep their private wars private, and they don't dare let any collateral damage spill over onto the streets, not unless they want to be slapped in the wallet by the Sluissi." Revan nodded. "I wonder just how effective, or ineffective, that actually is in practice, though."

Revan opened a palm, showing her ignorance. "Seems to have worked well, so far." Carth continued to look dubious, but shrugged.

Dustil's eyes had been following Lady Versenne's speeder while Revan had been speaking, watching as her speeder was driven towards a veritable swarm of people clad in uniforms that he decoded as _medics_. Lady Versenne was gently lifted from her seat and placed on a repulsorlift-enabled pallet, to be professionally fussed over briefly by the medics before being whisked off towards another side entrance. She turned her head to look back at them; Dustil imagined that her gaze lingered on him longer than it did on either Carth or Revan.

Bekim, the portly servitor, had overseen Lady Versenne's transfer from speeder to pallet, following along anxiously until her pallet, trailing an entourage of servants and medics, passed through the doorway. Now he came hastily towards them, worry for his charge still furrowing his brow.

"Please follow me." Bekim gestured for them to dismount from the speeder. Most of the House guards who had accompanied the cavalcade had since peeled off, but several still stood alertly at a discreet distance, watching them carefully. Their blaster rifles were held shouldered, but casually, pointedly, in view. Dustil noticed they were focused mainly on his father, wariness evident in their suspicious gazes and tense hands. Revan seemed to find that inordinately amusing, and even Carth's eyes were glinting with ironic humor.

"Boot's on the other foot, huh?" Revan murmured to Carth. Carth's only reply was a wry, quiet snort.

The three of them shuffled off the speeder, hands held carefully away from weapons, and followed Bekim to the main doors. The utilitarian walls of the garage gave way to wood-paneled surfaces, the grain polished to shine softly in the gentle light, bringing out the details of the intricate carvings. The floor was covered with a plush carpet, deep and thick, silencing their footfalls. The aesthetics were of exquisite taste, quietly simple, but they also screamed of great wealth. Statuary graced the wide corridor at intervals, the lines of doorways hardly breaking up the flow of the architecture.

Bekim lead them through a set of large double doors, made with black marble pierced through with gold veins. Bas reliefs of starships were carved on the surface, with jewels and precious metals highlighting the details, all surrounding the House Vosaryk sigil. Carth admired the carvings with a pilot's interest, before being gently ushered through by the servitor's quiet cough.

More House guards lined the receiving room they found themselves in, though these carried slightly more decorations on their sleeves, indicating perhaps that they were an elite unit of the security force. They tensed when they saw that Carth, Revan and Dustil were armed, and looked unhappy at the fact that they were not allowed to disarm them. Not yet, anyway. The three, for their part, were careful to keep their hands in sight and away from their weapons. They did not have long to wait, fortunately.

The doors at the other end of the room opened, and a large, hulking brute of a man entered. Dustil was surprised at his appearance, as he looked nothing like what he'd imagined of Lady Versenne's father. But then the man's uniform registered. He looked alertly around, searching every inch of the room for danger. His gaze swept over the three, taking cool professional note of their weapons.

The man--bodyguard, Dustil was sure--was himself only armed with a long knife and a blaster pistol, but Dustil was sure he had quite a few hidden surprises under the expanse of his uniform tunic. There was also the man's obvious strength, and his peculiar, gliding stride gave away the fact that he was a trained martial artist.

The bodyguard walked over to them and bowed respectfully. "Please, gentlemen, lady, I am afraid you must surrender your weapons to me. I assure you they will be taken care of. It is a House rule that no outsiders may carry weapons in the presence of the head of the House." His expression was apologetic, but unyielding.

Revan immediately unbuckled her vibroblades and unholstered her slugthrower, and handed them over to the bodyguard. Carth, more reluctantly, and clearly unhappy at being without weapons in the presence of so many armed guards, divested himself of his own blades and grudgingly handed them over. The bodyguard merely smiled blandly at Carth's impotent glare. Dustil turned over his blaster pistols without comment.

The bodyguard bowed even more deeply, and walked over to an exquisitely-decorated box. He placed the weapons carefully within, and closed the lid. Dustil heard the click of a lock. He suspected they had passed through weapons scanners, because the bodyguard didn't conduct a physical search on any of them. He wondered if Revan had her lightsabers, and if they had escaped the guards' notice.

The bodyguard went back to the doors, and at an unseen signal, a much shorter man swept through into the room. Though he was about Dustil's height, he seemed tiny compared to his bodyguard. The new arrival was thin, with sparse, long gray hair, tied back in a short tail with a deceptively simple silver clasp.

From the lines on his face, Dustil thought the man usually went around looking dyspeptic rather than happy, but right now frightened anxiety was the expression he bore. His eyes were wide and white-rimmed, making it clear just where Lady Versenne had inherited her startling silver eyes from. His robes, like the decor of the tower, were simple, elegant and flowing, the fabric heavy and luxurious. It rippled in graceful folds as he strode towards them.

"How is my dear Senni, Bekim!" he barked. His fear made his tone sharp and harsh.

Bekim bowed deeply. "Lord Vosaryk, Lady Versenne is alive and well, and being tended to by the medics after her no doubt harrowing ordeal. But did my lord not receive my reports?" he asked, a trifle reproachfully.

Dustil raised a mental eyebrow at that mild reproof, especially of a servant to his master. He supposed Bekim was a faithful, long-time retainer of the family, and a possibly well-loved one, because Lord Vosaryk took no offense at Bekim's tone. His expression even lightened a little with humor at the suppressed scolding tone in his servant's voice.

"I came back home immediately after receiving vague reports of my daughter's abduction, coming right out of a closed-door meeting. I've had no word since leaving my office!" Lord Vosaryk said. His anxious face changed immediately to one of relief, then to anger. "Bekim, how did this..." He stopped abruptly, seemingly to just now realize there were strangers in earshot. His mouth shut with a snap, and his eyes darted inquiringly at Bekim.

Bekim bowed again, and gestured at the three. "My lord, permit me to introduce these three. It was they who stopped the kidnappers from carrying out their plans. They very nearly succeeded in carrying my lady off, and would have, if these kind souls had not intervened."

Lord Vosaryk was staring in disbelief at Carth, clearly unable to picture him and 'kind soul' in the same sentence. Dustil saw Revan's expression of bland interest freeze a little, as if she were restraining herself from snickering. He was hard put to keep from laughing, himself. Carth's expression of irony deepened.

Bekim looked up, surprise marring his primly proper servitor's expression. "Um, I don't actually know your names...?" he said, turning to Revan.

Revan stepped forward and bowed, putting her most charming smile on her face. Dustil saw that Lord Vosaryk was by no means immune to her charm, to judge by the involuntary way he smiled back, hit by the full force of what his father half-jokingly called the Revan Effect.

"My lord, I'm Nami Kera'al, captain of the good ship _Skydancer_," Revan said, bowing. She gestured to Carth. "This is Nasi, my navigator and pilot, and this," she pointed to Dustil with her other hand, "is Stiller."

Lord Vosaryk mouthed the name of the ship to himself. "_Skydancer_...? _Skydancer_, where have I heard that name before?" His bodyguard stepped to his side and murmured into his ear from behind a large hand. Lord Vosaryk's face cleared. "Oh, yes!" He turned back to Revan. "Your ship is the one with that startling blue-and-white paint job, yes? A freighter?" He rattled off a series of numbers, throwing out the _Ebon Hawk's_ model name and number, along with its class and specifications.

Revan's eyes widened. "Er, yes, my lord. That's the _Skydancer_, all right."

Lord Vosaryk grinned, the expression making him seem decades younger. Dustil saw that he was in the presence of a true afficionado of starships. Well, that would certainly come in handy, in his job. He loved his work, clearly.

"It's a _lovely_ little ship. I must compliment you on that beautiful paint job. I saw it when I made my rounds at the shipyard. It quite caught my eye." Lord Vosaryk paused, looking struck by a thought. "If your ship is in my yard, you must be having work done on it, yes?"

Revan nodded. "We put in for an upgrade on our cannons."

Lord Vosaryk clapped his hands. "Why, then, there's the reward I shall give you!" He bowed deeply to her, his face turned grave. "House Vosaryk owes you a great debt. One I believe can never truly be repaid. However, my House never leaves a debt unpaid, especially not one such as this. House Vosaryk will take absolutely no payment for any work done on your ship, and we will refund any payment you might already have made."

Revan blinked, her eyes wide with surprise. "My lord, no reward is necessary..."

Lord Vosaryk held up a hand, stopping her protests. "An honorable House always pays its debts, madame. I will not have it otherwise. I will inform the yard crew to install the heaviest cannons your ship's engines can bear, not just the weight you asked for."

Revan, seeing the adamant expression on his face, knew any further protest would be futile and insulting. "Very well, my lord. I thank you."

Lord Vosaryk bowed deeply again. "It is _I_ who should thank _you_." He straightened back up. "Please excuse me, I wish to see how my daughter is getting on. Please accept the hospitality of House Vosaryk." Not pausing to hear Revan's acceptance or refusal of his offer, he turned away. "Bekim, give our guests whatever our House can offer," he told the servant, before sweeping back out, his bodyguard following on his heels.

Bekim bowed at his lord's retreating back before turning to the trio. "Gentlemen, lady, please follow me," he said, already assuming they would accept the hospitality his lord offered.

Carth, Revan and Dustil exchanged glances. Revan shrugged and turned to follow the portly servant. Dustil would've bristled at the arrangements so cavalierly set for them, but they had nothing else to do, anyway. And he found himself eager to see more of a certain platinum-haired, silver-eyed lady.

Dustil took up the rear of their little party, as they were lead down another plush-lined corridor.

* * *

Thanks to new reviewers kailinn, Hobnob, DeleriusJedi, Nima Onasi, sammie teufel and Raven Ban-Melas!

Also extra big thanks with chocolate go out to repeat reviewers Feza, Arrikazza, raena, Vmorticia, Firera, Shadow39, arrow maker, Bustin, Ozziegrl and Anonymous-cat!

Thanks guys, you've all really motivated me. I'd update my fic even without reviews, but your kind and encouraging words really make it worthwhile. :)

Feza, Revan does seem indestructible, but I did base the strengths of my characters on in-game stats. Revan has low strength but high dexterity, so she'd be able to pull off that stair-sliding stunt pretty easily. I picture her as Jen from _Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon_: small and slight, but very dexterous and agile. On the other hand, maybe I've just been watching too many Jackie Chan and Chinese martial arts fantasies where sliding down stairs would be considered pretty darned mundane. :D My Revan's a reckless girl, after all. :)


	29. Guilt

**Chapter 29: Guilt**

Revan, Carth and Dustil were ushered into a large, luxuriously-appointed suite, decorated according to the same tastes as the rest of the tower. The spacious room was redolent with the pleasant smell of time-aged varnished wood panels, here carved delicately with a motif of leaves and flowers. There was also a hint of spices and herbs in the air, complimenting the smell of varnish rather well.

The subtle scent of fresh flowers pervaded the room, as well, coming from a riotous explosion of color on a table. Dustil blinked, and the colors resolved themselves into a large collection of flowers, set in a glass bowl.

Bekim bowed respectfully. "If you require anything of any nature, please do not hesitate to call." He pointed at a panel of buttons on the wall, set unobtrusively in a niche. "Pressing any one of these will bring a servant. Do you have any needs at this moment?"

Revan smiled and shook her head. Carth and Dustil also shook their heads.

Bekim beamed. "Please allow me to tender my own gratitude for rescuing my lady. I've overseen her upbringing since she was a baby. She is like a daughter to me, though we do not share the same blood."

Revan waved a hand. "I'm just glad we could help."

Bekim returned her smile. "I thank you all the same." He waved a hand at the suite. "You will find that House Vosaryk has provided for every need our guests may have. You may also come and go as you please here--nothing in House Vosaryk is closed to you. If you so wish it, I can arrange a tour. Many guests we receive like to see the premises and the shipyard."

Revan nodded. "We may well take you up on that, Bekim. Thank you." Carth, Dustil noticed, had perked up at the mention of the shipyard tour.

Bekim gestured to a guard who had been following them at a distance, carrying the box Lord Vosaryk's bodyguard had placed their weapons in. The guard stepped into their suite and put the box down, next to the door.

"I would strongly recommend you do not walk about armed. You would normally be allowed to carry your personal weapons, but with this kidnapping attempt on my lady, our security force is quite on edge." Bekim smiled apologetically. "As guests, your safety is of paramount importance to the House. Our guards are on high alert, and will allow no harm to come to you."

Revan nodded. "I understand." Carth sighed and looked disgruntled.

Bekim bowed and smiled his leave, closing the door.

Revan looked around the suite and vented a low, piercing whistle of appreciation at the appointments. She flopped energetically onto a couch. Carth winced. "Careful, beautiful. That thing probably costs more than ten years' worth of my pay."

Revan ran a hand along the silky, shimmering fabric of the couch. "Twenty, I'd say. Pretty posh. A lot better than what we've got on Coruscant, hey?"

Dustil poked around the room, looking at but not daring to touch the knick-knacks scattered around. He suspected just one of them could feed an entire extended family comfortably for life.

"The wealth of this House would explain why someone wanted to kidnap Lady Versenne," Revan mused. "Have either of you noticed that there aren't any droids around here? No droid servants at all, which is yet another sign of just how filthy rich House Vosaryk is."

Dustil looked up sharply from his examination of a porcelain vase. The ceramic was so thin, he could see the light shining through it. "You think that's why she was kidnapped? To force Lord Vosaryk to pay ransom?"

Revan nodded. "But that's only one possible explanation. The Houses on Sluis Van have a very adamant attitude towards ransom, you see. If one House submits and gives ransom, then what's to stop people from repeating the tactic on other Houses? Whoever masterminded this must know that... so perhaps the real motivation behind the attempt is to distract Lord Vosaryk..." She shrugged. "This is all complete speculation."

"Houses like this don't get where they are by being nice. I bet there're a few skeletons in the closet here. I'm sure House Vosaryk has a lot of enemies, like any influential and rich family," Carth put in.

"You're thinking of the Ulgo family on Taris? The one that got wiped out by that assassin we turned in for the bounty?" Revan asked. She grimaced. "She was a _nasty_ one."

Carth nodded. "That's an example of a rich family having an enemy who hated or feared them enough to send an assassin to kill them all. And didn't care about any ransom the Ulgos might've paid."

Dustil raised his eyebrows. "And you two were able to take her out?"

"She put up quite a fight, but yeah," Carth said, with grim satisfaction. He rubbed absently on a blaster burn scar on the back of his hand. "The credits for the job were just a bonus. Vicious woman."

"Do you think they'll ever catch whoever hired those guys?" Dustil asked. He hoped their timely rescue of Lady Versenne had discouraged that unknown person's plans. Then he wondered why he cared so much about her safety. He'd only met her for, what, five minutes? But a pair of bright silver eyes kept intruding into his thoughts...

Carth was shaking his head, scowling. "I doubt it. They had probably been hired through middlemen. And probably lots of them." Revan nodded her head in agreement.

Dustil went over to the window. It gave a magnificent, panoramic view of the Sluissi capital city habitat. The floor they were on was near the top, allowing him to look down at the roofs of many of the nearby buildings. Then he noticed an open-air terrace on the floor below, and a familiar, platinum-haired woman, foreshortened from his vantage point.

"Um, I'm gonna go and, uh, explore a bit," Dustil said, as casually as he could.

"Have fun," Revan said mildly. The knowing glint in her eyes told him she wasn't fooled one bit by his act. _Damn all perceptive Jedi, anyway._

"Be polite to the people here, son. We're guests, and we really don't want to piss off someone like Lord Vosaryk," Carth cautioned sternly.

Dustil waved his acknowledgement of his father's warning as he walked out the door.

Carth watched his son walk out the door. Then he went to the couch Revan was sprawled on; she sat up to make room for him. He pulled her into his lap and laid his cheek on top of her head. "I think he's sweet on that girl we rescued."

Revan nodded. Carth felt the slight bumps of the beads in her hair as her head rubbed against his chin. "I think so, too."

"I thought you'd be, I don't know, upset about it. You being a--" Carth stopped what he was saying, because Revan had reached over her shoulder and laid a finger on his lips, silencing him.

He frowned bemusedly at her. She took out a small rod-like device from her vest, about the size of his index finger, and pressed a tiny button on it. He heard a faint hum, and saw a barely-perceptible shimmer in the air. He recognized it now as a white noise generator, used to distort speech to foil any listeners, and the blur would keep anyone from being able to read their lips. He shook his head, wondering whom at OFI she had cajoled or wheedled into giving it to her. One of those things cost as much as a used starship.

"Right, you were saying?" Revan put the generator back into her pocket.

"I was saying, I thought you'd be upset about Dustil being sweet on a girl. You know, you being a Jedi and all," Carth continued.

Revan squirmed around in his arms until she faced him, propping her elbows on his chest. In an exaggeratedly-patient voice, she said, "Carth, I'd have some nerve, telling Dustil to not get involved with someone, when,"--she twitched a hand, taking in their relationship with her gesture--"we're carrying on like this."

"Um. You have a point, gorgeous." He cocked his head at her. "You're a Jedi Knight... I'm surprised the Council didn't attach Dustil to you as a padawan you should train. Isn't that what you have to do to become a Master? Train up a padawan?"

Revan rubbed the side of her nose. "Yes, but... I'm glad they didn't."

"Why? I, uh, I have to admit I'd feel better about the whole thing if _you_ taught him." Carth raised his brows, surprised by her answer.

"Well, for one thing, there's too much baggage and history between Dustil and I. He's not ready to listen to me like that. I don't know if he'd _ever_ be ready to listen to me like that. I mean, hello, former Dark Lord of the Sith teaching someone whose mother was killed indirectly through her actions?" Revan made a pained face, and looked down.

Carth tilted her face back up with a finger on her chin. "Hey. That's all water under the bridge, okay?" If he didn't stop her now, she'd fret herself into a depression. She was all too prone to that, especially when she thought she was responsible.

Revan smiled wanly back at him, aware of his attempt to distract her. "I know." She sighed. "_I_ don't think _I'm_ ready to teach him, or, or anyone. And for another, we're too close. I mean, you're my lover, and he's your son. I don't think I could ever be objective enough. There are some lessons that can only be taught by a relative stranger. And... some of those lessons are hard. Hard to teach, and even harder to learn."

Carth thought about the lessons she, Jolee, Juhani and Bastila had learned. He winced. "I hope Dustil never has to learn such harsh lessons, beautiful."

Revan shook her head. "I think you underestimate him. He's learned some brutal lessons already, and survived them." She flicked a finger. "Did you notice that Dustil was about to ask us if we could stick our noses into this mess, when we took cover?" she asked, trailing her hand along his jaw, enjoying the sensation of his stubble prickling her fingers.

Carth nodded. "Yes, I did." He smiled. "He didn't even hesitate." He settled deeper into the couch, the springy cushions seeming to enfold him in their silken embrace. He wiggled a little to keep himself from sinking any further into its comfortable clutches.

Revan's eyes crinkled a little at the pride she heard in his voice. "It's good that the Sith Academy hadn't beaten every altruistic impulse out of his head--to do things that won't benefit him, or because it would be to his advantage."

He stared thoughtfully at an old-fashioned painting on the wall, done by hand on canvas, colored with real paint. "Huh. I never thought of that. I would _like_ to say my son would never just stand by and let something like that go, but... the things he must've seen, the things he must've done, just to survive on Korriban--they had to have changed him. I'm glad they didn't have enough time to corrupt him completely."

Revan tilted her head back to look into his face. "I'm... surprised you aren't more, mn, upset about that."

Carth sighed, his exhaled breath tickling her cheeks. "I'm not upset, exactly. Well, I am... I mean, I don't like it, but there's nothing I can do about it. He's like a soldier who's seen too much war. Certain... certain habits of mind get, get ingrained. And maybe they're useful in combat, and even necessary for survival, but they're not so good when it comes time for the battle to be over."

Revan took his hand and pressed a kiss into it, silently comforting him.

Carth smiled, forcibly throwing off his darkening mood. "Hey, even shell-shocked soldiers like me recover. It... it just takes time." He wondered if he was trying to convince her, or himself.

"It does take time... He was surely recruited and intended to be a weapon in the Sith's hands. Recruited earlier than most." Revan's face was pensive and solemn, gaze turned inwards, perhaps seeing her own imagined role in Dustil's turning.

Carth brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. "Hey. I won't have you moping." As he had hoped, his deliberate echo of her own words, spoken so long ago, made her snort a laugh. She swatted playfully at him. He grinned, feeling his own somber mood lift.

He idly wound a lock of her hair around a finger, rubbing its smooth silkiness with his thumb. "You know... it seems a _little_ convenient, us happening to be in the right place and at the right time to rescue that girl. Of all the places that speeder could've run to, it just _happens_ to fly right at us..." he mused thoughtfully.

Revan's hand brushed up his jaw, and her thumb and forefinger tugged lightly at his earlobe. "I hope you're not suggesting _I_ had anything to do with it." She narrowed her eyes to glittering slits.

Carth raised a hand, palm out, flapping it at her in denial. "No, no, I wasn't suggesting _you_ had anything to do with it!" He raised an eyebrow, when he realized her flashing eyes were full of humor instead of anger. "A little touchy today, huh?"

Revan gave him a slow smile, the one that always simultaneously made his heart race and blood pound, and also want to hide in the deepest hole he could find. "I don't get touchy, I get angry. And if I was angry," Revan tugged at his earlobe a little harder, "you'd be eating your ear right now, with your choice of condiment."

Carth chuckled, shivering in mock-fear at the threat. "Oh, no, anything but that!" He smiled slyly. "But I wouldn't be _nearly_ as handsome with just one ear. I'd look lopsided!"

Revan switched hands and pulled on his other ear. "You're right. I'd cut off _both_ ears, for the sake of symmetry." She laughed at the lugubrious face he pulled. "Still, you _wouldn't_ look as handsome anymore, so I'll spare you. _This_ time," she said, magnanimously.

Carth let out his breath in a loud, theatrical sigh of relief, stirring the bangs on her forehead. He brushed them out of her face gently. "Very kind and merciful of you, beautiful." He fingered the strands of hair at her temple. "But seriously... don't you think it all seems just a little convenient?"

Revan raised her chin, giving him a considering look. "And what does the suspicious bastard in your paranoid head have to say?"

Carth wrinkled his nose at her description of his practical, sensible instincts. "You think I'm being paranoid?" he asked, a little indignantly.

Revan gave him another one of those slow, disturbingly-sexy smiles. "You wouldn't be Carth without it, flyboy. Don't worry, I love you anyway," she said reassuringly.

Carth smiled crookedly. "Gee, thanks."

Revan shrugged, the movement bouncing them both on the couch slightly. "I can't think of any reason that would satisfy you. I say it was the Will of the Force, mainly. But then it's been at work all this time, from the time we were on the _Endar Spire_ to, well, now."

Carth thought back, to how the both of them just happened to survive, of all the hands lost on the _Endar Spire_. To how Revan was able to get the prototype accelerator, _just_ in time for her to enter the swoop race to rescue Bastila. The list of coincidences went on and on.

"Well, you know me. I don't buy it, not really. It's such a, a catch-all, convenient phrase, but... I can't think of any other reason that isn't out-and-out ridiculous."

"You're not thinking hard enough, then, if you can't manufacture at least five this minute," Revan teased him, eyes dancing.

Carth glowered at her. "It strikes me, woman, that you're in the perfect position for me to give you the spanking you so richly deserve."

Revan wrinked her nose charmingly at him. "You're all talk, flyboy." The look in her eyes challenged him to prove her wrong.

Carth looked at the door. Dustil could come back at any moment. Damn. "You just wait, sister. When we get back to our hotel, I'll..." He leaned forward and whispered into her ear for a while. He had the delightful and rare satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen and her cheeks color.

Revan repeated his look at the door, and he could see the same thoughts race through her head, culminating in a look of disappointment. "You just better keep your promise, flyboy." She gave him a fierce glower. "Or there'll be hell to pay." The threat was undermined by her sparkling eyes and suppressed giggle.

He would have absolutely no problem keeping _that_ promise. He gave her a wolfish grin. "Anticipation, beautiful." He decided to change the subject, because there was a certain region that was definitely rebelling in protest at his restraint. Rising up in arms, even. Or just rising... His armor was both a blessing and a curse, at the moment. On the one hand, it was quite discomforting, especially in one particular section of it. On the other, it also hid a state of... mind he really didn't want her to notice.

"I'm surprised you decided to accept Lord Vosaryk's reward. You usually refuse that sort of thing."

Revan shifted around, sprawling more comfortably on him. "I would've, but then I remembered I'm in disguise. While it would be very Jedi-like of me to refuse, it wouldn't be in character for Nami Kera'al. So I offered a token protest, and took it. Besides, the Houses of Sluis Van are very punctilious and prickly about their honor. To refuse his offer to repay what he perceived as a huge debt would greatly insult him."

Carth accepted her explanation without demur; she knew more about the Sluis Van Houses than he did. She had obviously done more in-depth research into this world, more than any of the OFI briefings had provided.

He pursed his lips. "I'm also surprised you decided to use your Nami identity. It's not something I figured you'd do. I thought you'd create an entirely different persona, not reuse that one." He stared down into her eyes questioningly.

Nami Kera'al had been what she'd called herself--what the _Jedi Council_ had named her--before she knew she was actually Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith. _Former_ Dark Lord of the Sith. And she had been very adamant about throwing off that falsehood, insisting that he and the rest of the crew call her by her true name.

It was quite in character for her to have done that, he realized. She never hid from anything, much less from behind a false name.

Revan shrugged again. "It was a ready-made identity. The records and such for it still existed, after all. No one had bothered to delete them. Waste not, want not. Besides, you're used to calling me that. Fewer slips of the tongue, that way."

Carth looked at her dubiously. Of all the names she could've picked, she just _happens_ to pick the one the Council gave her new self. "If you expect me to believe that, I've got some prime real estate on Dagobah I'd like to sell you."

"I wouldn't buy a used speeder from you, what with the way you look now. Not even if the entire Senate vouched for you," Revan said, smirking.

Carth narrowed his eyes and moved his hands to her sides. "Give, beautiful, or... it's the tickle!" he threatened. He crooked his fingers in anticipation.

Revan's eyes widened in mock-horror. "I give, I give!" she cried, laughing. He relaxed his hands, a bit disappointed at her quick capitulation.

She traced a finger absently on his chest, following a seam on his jacket. "I don't really know. Maybe it's because I'm used to the name, still. Maybe I want to relive the good old days, when I was just plain Nami, smuggler turned Jedi. Whose life may have been turned on its ear, but the only troubles I had were surviving Dark Jedi ambushes, keeping a motley crew together, somehow scrounging enough credits to feed you all and finding the Star Maps. Not..." she waved her fingers, indicating the issues she had instead, as a reformed Dark Lord.

Carth didn't know quite what to say to her confession. He decided to let his actions speak, tightening his arms around her, and pressing his lips to her forehead, in silent support. She seemed to know what he was saying anyway, as she snuggled into his jacket, tucking her head under his chin.

He took in the scent of her hair, smelling something like the light perfume of Dantooine flowers, subtlely sweet, along with the slightly-minty herbal shampoo she favored. The colored beads clicked gently, hard and smooth against his fingers as he brushed his hand through her hair.

"I love you, Revan. Whatever you decide to call yourself."

Once again he pondered the practicalities, or the _im_practicalities, of protecting her. She could handle any physical threats quite well on her own, thank you very much, but she was as vulnerable to self-doubt as anyone else. More so, because few people had been reprogrammed like a droid, and then sent on a dangerous, almost suicidal, mission. And she carried along all the baggage of a good person who had found out she'd committed countless atrocities in another life. With absolutely no memory of any of it.

He'd played the blame and if-only games himself, done them to death, but how much worse was it all for her?

He wondered if her reckless stunts were an unconscious desire for... an end. If she hadn't always been like that, even before she knew of her real identity, he'd be well and truly worried for her sanity. Psychotherapy was... not an option. She'd be given right back to the Jedi, who would do... what? Could they really resist the temptation, once they had Revan firmly in their hands, to just mind-wipe her again and start anew, this time with a much more pliant Revan?

One who didn't have that pesky emotional attachment to a certain Republic pilot?

He knew he was probably taking his paranoid suspicions of the Jedi to a ridiculous level. Bastila, Jolee and Juhani were all Jedi, after all. They'd watch over Revan and make sure she'd be safe from any such 'benevolent' Council treatment. If the Council would ever suggest such a thing. And they probably wouldn't. It was hard for him to not suspect the worse of them, of their motivations.

A niggling doubt gnawing at the back of his mind whispered that maybe he didn't want her to go in for therapy, because then he couldn't be with her... He told himself, firmly, to shut the hell up.

It was a road he'd stood on before, after all. Knew all the signposts, draped with the cobwebs of regrets, the dirt beneath his feet littered with if-only self-recriminations, and stained with spatters of old blood, where he'd beaten himself up, endlessly, day after day. And the shimmering, coruscating fragments of broken dreams, scattered here and there, shining in the merciless light that beat down on his soul, ruthlessly revealing all of his inadequacies and helplessness. Guilt, of course, smothered everything like a dense fog.

And the horizon stretching endlessly and emptily, all around him, that he would have to endure, all alone, for the rest of his life. He'd thrown himself into his work in the Fleet, grimly clawing his way through another day, and another, and another, in the hopes that he would get his chance to reach Saul. Fighting like he had nothing to lose, because he _had_ nothing to lose. And always feeling... disappointed, that he still survived.

That, of course, had been before he'd met her. He'd understood, so well, her pain when he'd stopped her from throwing herself into the abyss. He'd understood how it must've hurt, that cracking of the barriers she'd placed around her soul, to let in hope.

Was that barren place where she stood, in those nightmares of hers?

A memory rose up, showing him just how much she had endured. And how she sometimes cracked beneath the weight.

_ Carth stepped into the exercise room, hearing the clash of blades. As he'd expected, it was Revan, practicing. He stood in the doorway, watching appreciatively as she twirled her swords and whirled across the room. _

_ He never tired of watching her move--the fluid grace of her lithe body, supple and strong, for all the slightness of it. Her fighting style was as much acrobatics as martial arts, blended with the techniques of the sword. _

_ He frowned when he saw that her arms and legs were bloody. She was alone in the cavernous exercise room, so there couldn't have been anyone else there to inflict wounds on her. And even if there were, they'd use practice blades, which could bruise and sting, but not cut. _

_ He soon received his answer to his mental question. Revan twisted her body as she flew through the air, and her arms brought her blades close in a tightening circle around her body. Then she cut herself with them, blood spurting from her wounds to join the crimson stains already covering her arms. His heart pounded with a sudden panicked fear. _

_ Carth found himself running towards her. He should've known _something_ was wrong when she hadn't acknowledged his presence. She could always sense him, and always waited expectantly for him whenever he entered the room. _

_ Now that he was closer, he saw that her eyes were vague and distant, horribly empty, as if she were in some sort of trance. Closer to, he saw with some relief that she'd at least had the presence of mind to heal herself. His relief was short-lived, when he realized she'd only done it so that she could cut herself all over again. _

_ "Revan!" Carth called. She was still whirling about in a circle, her blades flashing, taking no notice of him or his cries. Drops of blood flew from her blades to spatter across the floor. _

_ He grabbed her by the arms, his hands slipping on her blood-slicked skin, heedless of the sharp blades held only inches away. He shook her, hard, trying to jar her out of that frightening trance. "Revan! Revan! Snap out of it!" She stared unseeing at him. Through him. He shook her hard enough for her head to snap back and forth on her neck. "Revan!" _

_ Revan's blades dropped from her nerveless hands, falling to the floor with a noisy clatter. Carth saw that her eyes were losing their vagueness, focusing on him. He stopped shaking her, raising a hand to brush a lock of hair out of her eyes. _

_ "Revan?" He patted her sweaty face with a hand, trying to bring her the rest of the way out of her trance. His fingers left red prints on her cheek, her blood standing out starkly against the pallor of her skin. _

_ Revan blinked. "Carth...?" She tried to pull away from him, but he wasn't about to let her go. "I--I never... I never meant for you to see me like this." She hung her head, staring at her boots. _

_ "And just what am I seeing, exactly?" Carth asked softly. He cupped her chin and tilted her face up. "Please... please tell me. You promised me once you wouldn't leave me out of the loop. Remember?" _

_ He folded her into his arms and sat down on the floor, pulling her with him to sit on his lap. She tucked her head under his chin and wrapped her arms around his waist. _

_ "Hey, beautiful, talk to me." He held her out a little, so that he could see her face. One hand cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking the hair at her temple. _

_ "I'm... not sure I can explain it. I'm not sure I can explain it to myself." The color in Revan's cheeks were starting to come back, slowly. _

_ "Try." Carth throttled his anger back down. She was beating herself up enough already; he didn't need to kick her while she was down. "Hurting yourself like this won't help. Please... please stop it. You're really scaring me." _

_ "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I was just... I'm not sure what I was doing. I wanted to be sure I was real, I guess. To feel real." The abject apologies wrung at his heart. _

_ His mouth twitched up at one corner in an unwilled, crooked smile. "I've got better ways to make you feel real, beautiful." His half-smile disappeared. "That won't hurt you." _

_ She stared up at him, her eyes pleading for him to believe her. "I... I know what it looks like. I wasn't, I wasn't trying to kill myself. Really. I gave you my promise on the Star Forge." _

_ His arm tightened around her. "Promise me you won't... you won't do _this_ again. Please. It already drives me crazy when assassins try to kill you, but I can deal with those. I also promised to protect you, from _yourself_," he said, trying to keep the anguished worry out of his voice. _

_ "I... I promise," Revan said, in a small voice. "But I can't... I can't promise that this won't happen again. But I won't hurt myself like this anymore." She looked down, too ashamed to meet his eyes. _

_ Carth tilted her chin up gently with his hand, forcing her to look at him. "Good. But tell me... what brought this on?" _

_ Revan did not reply for a while. Carth could see that she was mustering her thoughts, so he waited more or less patiently. _

_ Revan sighed. "It's those damned award ceremonies. They're the worst. Not only is it the height of hypocrisy for me to accept awards, it denigrates all the sacrifices of the Jedi and soldiers who fought and died in the war _I_ started!" Her hands clenched in his jacket, gripping the fabric in bunches. _

_ Carth brushed the backs of his fingers on her cheek. "I know what you mean. I feel the same way when I'm presented with awards. As if I were the only one who, who accomplished the impossible. I know how much blood and sweat and life each of those medals represent, and I don't wear them for myself, but to honor the ones who died. It gets to be a burden. A huge burden." _

_ Revan nodded mutely. She screwed her eyes shut. _

_ Carth caressed her cheek. "That can't be the only thing bothering you. Come on, tell me." _

_ Revan took a deep breath. "Is it possible to die from too much regret? Sometimes I think I'm half drowning in it." She looked down, then forced herself to meet his eyes. "You deserve better than this, Carth... You deserve someone who isn't more than a little mad, who isn't... isn't _broken_. Who isn't the one who destroyed your life. You deserve a life without assassins hounding your every step." _

_ Carth stroked her cheek with his fingers. "I'll be the judge of what I do or don't deserve, beautiful." He couldn't help the hurt look that appeared on his face. "Isn't it... isn't it enough that I love you? That you love me?" _

Force, that sounded sappy. _Of course_ it's not enough. Obviously. You're a stupid idiot, Onasi, saying stuff like that.

_ "It is... it is. Most of the time. Most of the time, I'm so happy, I think my heart would burst." She brushed her cool fingers on his cheek, leaving thin streaks of blood. "I never expected this... I never even dared to hope for such a thing. _

_ "But some of the time... some of the time I look at all that Darth Revan has done... And I see it like a, a huge mountain of corpses. How can I possibly dig out from under it? Is it even possible? How much can I pay, and when will it be enough?" She opened her palms, holding them up helplessly. "Can it ever... can it ever _be_ enough? If only I give _enough_... but I've come to the end of myself. I don't know how much more I can give." _

_ She sighed and closed her eyes, bone-deep weariness showing in her face and the slump of her shoulders. _

_ Carth stared at her, a little aghast. The parades and award ceremonies and receptions were tedious, sure, but he hadn't thought they were so hard on her. He worked his mouth, trying to find the right words. Usually a hit-or-miss effort, but he had to try. He cupped her face in his hands. "I've seen your soul... and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Everything else, your false memories, the, the things Darth Revan has done... none of it matters to me. None of it. But be honest... is it really _my_ forgiveness you need? Or is it your own?" _

_ Revan shrugged. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it really is _my_ forgiveness I need. I just wish I really was Nami Kera'al, smuggler extraordinaire, who's pretty good using those lightsabers of hers, fighting the good fight." _

_ Carth leaned his forehead against hers. "Wishing won't help matters. You know that. All you--we--can do, is go on. And damn whatever anyone else thinks," he said fiercely. That got a smile out of her, but it disappeared too damned quickly. _

_ Revan vented a shuddering breath. "I didn't want this... I didn't want any of this... I never meant to hurt anyone, least of all you. I failed you, before I ever met you." She looked away. _

_ Carth's mouth tilted up in a lopsided smile. "You _didn't_ fail me... Tell you what, though, beautiful. I'll let you make it up to me." _

_ Revan stared up at him in disbelief, a startled laugh puffing out her lips. He was extremely gratified by the result. At least she could still laugh. She'd made him laugh so often, he was glad he could return the favor. _

_ Carth held her face with both of his hands. "I love you, Revan. You are an amazing, extraordinary woman, the woman I love. The woman who's always teasing me, who always has a joke to cheer me up, who can sing the dirtiest songs I've ever heard with a straight face." He felt her chest heave slightly with another reluctant laugh. "You _aren't_ Darth Revan anymore. No Dark Lord of the Sith could ever do what you've done." _

_ "But... I did, once. It could... it could happen again." She caressed his face lightly. "Will you catch me, if I fall?" _

_ "Always," he said simply. "You know I'll aways be here for you." _

_ She burrowed inside his jacket, and he felt her tremble. He laid his cheek on top of her head, and wrapped his arms around her tightly, as if he might so shield her from the rest of the world. _

_ Revan closed her eyes for a moment, then she opened them again. Her hand caressed his jaw lightly. "I don't know why you put up with me. With my whining. Am I not hideous to you?" Her face twisted, full of self-loathing. "I tell you I am hideous to _me

_ Carth drew her into his arms, hugging her to him tightly. She clung to him with a quiet desperation. "You're not hideous. Not at all. All I see is a beautiful, brave woman, the most courageous person I've ever met," he said earnestly. He pressed his forehead against hers. "You have a soul that outshines a thousand suns. No one who has a soul like that could _ever_ be hideous. Not to me. Not to me." _

_ She started to weep. It twisted at his heart. Crying women always made him feel so damned... _useless

_ Revan's breath puffed in a pained, strangled laugh. "And this is another thing... I turn into a waterworks so often, you must surely be tired of it." _

_ "You've got so much pain inside you, I'd be more disturbed if you didn't let it out. I'm surprised you don't let it out more often." Carth kissed her wet cheeks tenderly, his lips tracing the trails her tears had made, tasting the saltiness of her despair. He brushed his fingers through her hair, in a slow, soothing motion. _

_ His heart ached for her. She presented to the universe the strong face of a Jedi, unflappable and calm in any situation, when inside she was as uncertain and afraid as any other person. He was more than touched that he was allowed to see this other, vulnerable part of her, when she let her guard down completely. _

_ It roused all of his protective urges, and they rushed up fiercely out of his heart for her. But finding a target was easier said than done. All of the overt enemies had already been taken care of: Malak, the Sith, Saul Karath... Which left the hidden ones. And _they_ wore the guises of ordinary citizens. _

_ For a moment, his heart shrank from the perceived enormity of the task. But as he looked at the woman silently weeping in his arms, he knew he would do anything, _anything_, to keep her safe. Whether it was from Sith assassins, ordinary people with grievances against Darth Revan bent on vengeance, or herself... Whatever. _

_ He suspected it was the protection from herself that would tax his abilities the most. So be it. _

_ A sudden calm descended on him then. As always, once he had a clear plan to follow, his mind was eased. Whatever the future held, it would find him ready for it. _

_ He pressed his lips to her brow, sealing his silent promise. _

Carth blinked away the memories. He looked down, looking at the highlights the light struck in her hair, in the beads. She didn't seem to have noticed his silence, or his brief lapse down memory lane.

Revan stirred, raising a hand to look at the chrono on her wrist. She wriggled up out of his arms and ran over to the window. He heard her mutter triumphantly. He stood and walked over, looking down curiously over her shoulder, wondering what she was watching.

"Hah. I _knew_ he'd gone to see her," Revan said smugly.

Carth saw the blonde head of his son sitting alongside a platinum-tressed woman. "Do you think this is a good idea?"

Revan turned her head to look up at him. "Wouldn't you like to have grandchildren to dandle on your knee someday?"

Carth rubbed the back of his head, trying to imagine himself as a grandfather. "Oh, well, sure, but, uh, I thought you'd want him to at least wait until he's trained first."

Revan shrugged. "Well, better he figures out what he wants now, than later. So he knows what he's getting into. And what he'll miss." She stared down at the two figures. "At least Dustil seems to have gotten over Selene."

"It'd be good for him to be around people his own age, I have to admit," Carth put in. He looked at the foreshortened figure of the platinum-haired woman. "She seems like a nice girl."

Revan twisted her head around again and stared up at him. "Wait, did I hear you properly? Carth Onasi, professional paranoid pilot and all-round suspicious bastard, actually taking something on _faith_?"

He scowled down at her. "Dammit, woman, you're just asking for a spanking, aren't you?"

Revan smirked. "Promises, promises, flyboy," she snickered.

* * *

As usual, big old heaping piles of thanks go out to new reviewers: Krazed Kaioshin Fangirl, Rocket, Skydiver88, PinkTinkaBelle, PhoenixFury03 and SubDaemon!

Big ol' Godiva chocolate bricks go out to repeat reviewers VMorticia, Shadow39, arrow maker and Ozziegrl!

Krazed Kaioshin Fangirl: Thank you for the kind words. I thought it'd be great that the perpetually-paranoid pilot gets all the suspicious looks for once. :D Well, Revan _does_ seem indestructible. Although I didn't think the rail slide was all _that_ over the top... But as Chapter 29 may attest, she's not all _that_ indestructible. Or flawless. :) At least, I hope she's not. I try to keep her from becoming a Mary Sue, ya see.

PhoenixFury03: There are lots of fics who pair Mission and Dustil, and I just didn't want to copy them. That was my only motivation for putting him with someone else. :)

SubDaemon: Oh, my. You put up a wonderfully helpful review, thank you for putting the time in to write such a long one. :) And such a long review asks for an equally long response. So. :)

Glad you're enjoying the fic!  
  
Sensory details, hm. Well, I took your advice to heart, and hopefully Ch. 29 is better. :)  
  
Re: Ch. 8's flashbacks: The memory is indeed from Carth's point of view. It was on purpose.  
  
Carth coming off flat? Hm. I thought I give him enough of a presence, through the flashbacks, but perhaps I'm wrong. Anyway, Ch. 29 should again address this issue, I hope.  
  
Dustil and Mission: this pair can work, I think. At least, AthenaPrime's done it rather well, I think. I didn't pair them like that because everyone else did it, and I didn't want to.  
  
Other KoTOR characters pushed to background: Sorry, but this had to be done. There's no way I could finish this fic if I also included the other characters. Besides, I don't think I'm up to writing the other characters, especially Bastila and Canderous. They're both very complex characters, and other people do them so well, already. I really feel inadequate to the task. :) In fact, Dustil wasn't even _supposed_ to be in the fic so much, but some darned BioWare poster that shall remain nameless sent this plot bunny poinging through my head...   
  
There's a method to my madness in pushing T3-M4 to the background. Stay tuned. :) Although I thought my reason for having the little guy stay behind was plausible...   
  
Carth's speech patterns are different? Damn. I thought I had his voice down pretty well. :x What do you think I should change?  
  
If I was able to make somebody smile with the things my Revan does, I'll have done my job. :D v  
  
Glad you like the flashbacks! I'm always concerned they interrupt the flow of the story.

Any joy I get from writing, well, it's nothing compared to the joy I get from getting lovely reviews, SubDaemon. So here's me hoping you continue to post more reviews as lovely as your first. :)

Ozziegrl: Nope, Lord Vosaryk is just one of those obsessed people who can recognize a starship's model just from a glance, not necessarily what name it is. And the _Ebon Hawk_'s been given a new paint job, along with more sensors that changed its outline, so he wouldn't be able to recognize the ship like that. :)


	30. Parallels

**Chapter 30: Parallels**

Dustil stepped out of the suite and paused, looking around at the dimly-lit corridor. It looked identical to every other corridor he'd seen in this tower; only the statuary distinguished one elegantly-appointed hall from another. He made his way to where he remembered the lift was located. Like everything else in this place, it was disguised behind a fancy exterior.

He pressed the button for the floor below, feeling nervous. What was he going to say to her? He rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe he could ask after her health. That seemed safe enough. He breathed in and out steadily, trying to calm his nerves, and to get rid of those pesky butterflies that had suddenly hatched and were fluttering around in his stomach.

A musical chime sounded, and the doors opened silently to reveal an identical plush-lined corridor, only the changes in statuary and artwork showing it wasn't the exact same floor as the one he'd just left. He stepped out, his feet sinking into the carpet. He looked around, trying to determine where an entrance to that terrace would be. He didn't have to think for long, because he saw a pair of House Vosaryk guards flanking a doorway. He ambled over to them.

The guards had tensed immediately upon spotting him, but didn't show any signs of hostility. One nodded politely to him, his eyes automatically searching Dustil for weapons out of habit, to find none. More likely he had seen the more accurate and comprehensive readouts from the weapons scanners Dustil was sure he had passed through.

"I'm, uh, looking for Lady Versenne," Dustil said. "My name's Stiller." He restrained himself from adding a clumsy explanation. They wouldn't be impressed by his babbling.

The guard consulted a datapad, looking back and forth carefully at him, then down to the pad. Then he nodded at Dustil. "You are cleared for access, sir."

Dustil wondered who had put him on that access list. Or maybe all of House Vosaryk's guests were on some list or other. _Rescuers of Lady Versenne: three total._

The guard turned to a discreet panel inset next to the door, while his colleague kept a careful watch on Dustil. He fiddled with it a bit and murmured something into a hidden microphone, words Dustil couldn't make out.

The guard turned back. "Lady Versenne will see you, sir." The door swished open to pour bright sunlight, like a sudden splash of burnished honey, into the corridor.

Dustil stepped out into a garden, blinking in the bright light, as he came out from the dimness of the hall. The garden was similar to the one he'd seen on Coruscant, but worlds away, at the same time. Trees were planted in two rows, all of them pruned to the exact same height, spaced evenly apart. Beds of flowers made colored squares on both sides of the trees.

No weather existed in the habitats the Sluissi had created to house themselves, so no wind ruffled the leaves of the trees and flowers. He could still smell the aromatic scents of the flowers and grass, though, despite the lack of a carrying breeze. The perfumes of the blossoms had been cultivated as carefully as their appearance, none of them clashing or cloying in his nostrils, as he took in appreciative sniffs of the air.

Some late blossoms fell off the trees as he walked along the ruler-straight stone path, pelting his head and shoulders softly with petals. He brushed them off, his fingers touching the softness of the fallen flowers briefly. They scattered across the tiles, and exuded a fruity aroma when his boots crushed them.

He passed under the archway formed by the branches of the trees. The light, slightly diffused through the walls of the habitat, fell in through the leaves, making dappled shadows and spots of brightness in the cool dimness. The lustrous colors of the flower beds shone through between the trunks, changing kaleidoscopically as he progressed along the path, sometimes broken by statuary, or more often, by curiously-shaped stone pillars, carved seemingly only by the hand of nature and the wind.

There was an unnatural silence to the place, and Dustil wondered at the lack of droning insects and animals. Perhaps they were not allowed in the controlled environment of a habitat. Uncharitably, he thought the gardener in charge probably considered insects and animals too untidy. He found himself disapproving of the arrangements. It was all too... _ordered_.

Then he scolded himself for being so cynical. It was still a damned sight better than sterile Korriban. Trees and growing things had been a lack he hadn't noticed while he was there, but once he left the Sith world, he found he'd missed them dearly.

It had struck--hah--home when he'd arrived on Telos, back for the first time after four long years. The colony itself was still mostly in ruins, if frantically rebuilding, but much of the forests and mountains had been untouched.

Korriban had had a stark beauty to its volcanic mountain ranges, the jagged teeth of long-frozen magma a testament to the massive geothermal pressures the planet used to suffer. Ominous rumblings he'd heard and felt in the depths of the Academy had signaled that the planet was not yet entirely at peace within itself, even after all these millenia.

It was a barren and desolate world, all the same, despite its beauty. Telos, even though it had been struck what he'd thought had been a deathblow, was a live, bustling place, full of life and energy. Dreshdae, on the other hand, had been sullen and wary, its inhabitants full of caution, watching the stream of hopeful Sith would-be students pass into the Academy with jaded cynicism, certain that only one or two would ever come back out. Certain that, while Sith may come, and Sith may go, there was always credit-making business to be done.

He returned his attention to the here and now, looking about at the profusion of life, in all its ordered forms. _It's not so bad, after all._ He inhaled deeply of the smell of wet, freshly-turned earth, mingled with the floral perfumes and the rich, sharp scent of just-cut grass.

He returned to the problem of just what to talk about with Lady Versenne. He could ask after her health, sure, but that would take all of, what, five minutes? What was he supposed to talk about afterwards? Weather? But there was no weather in the habitat...

He realized his only experience with girls--women--had been limited to Revan, Mission and the female Sith students at the Academy. And Selene, a Sith agent. _Probably_ a Sith agent. But he was deluding himself; all the signs pointed towards her connections with the Sith, and _not_ just as a prisoner of war. His thoughts darkened. He'd been in love with a _Sith agent_.

And she'd loved him, he was sure of it. And the Sith had killed her for it. He wondered if she ever regretted their relationship, when they came for her. If she ever cursed her heart when her pretense of love somehow became reality. He felt suddenly tired. _Does it matter? Selene's... dead._

And really, would he have cared even once he'd found out her true identity and purpose? With a sudden dawning realization, he saw the parallels between his relationship with Selene and his father's with Revan.

He didn't want to. He didn't want to let his anger go, his anger at his father for loving... _her_. But his damnable new understanding stayed, as unmoving as a stalled bantha in the middle of his resentment.

He wondered if his father had felt as adrift and confused as he, when he'd found out Revan's true identity. And as angry. And hopeless. Hopelessly, helplessly in love... with the enemy.

_I knew that, if she fell, I wouldn't be able to lift a hand. I would've let her kill me_, Carth had said, with bleak certainty in his eyes.

He was his father's son in more ways than one, it seemed.

He looked inwardly at himself. Could he, honestly, say that he'd never forgive or forget Selene's betrayal of his trust, if she were still alive, and he confronted her with the facts?

He didn't know what he'd do. He definitely knew he'd be angry. Anger was an all-too-familiar reaction and emotion. He suspected he would, eventually, forgive her. Whether their relationship could've weathered the storm... For the first time, he saw how much capacity for forgiveness his father had.

Was it a weakness? Uthar would've said that forgiveness was a weak Jedi sentiment. But then, Uthar was dead, which showed how much wisdom _his_ words had turned out to have. While Yuthura Ban yet lived, supposedly.

Dustil ran his hand agitatedly through his hair, pulling a little at the strands. No matter which way he looked at it, Revan was the one ultimately responsible for... everything. And yet...

What kind of Dark Lord could sing bawdy songs and tell jokes with not only double entendres, but triple and quadruple ones? Who pulled stunts that would raise the hairs on any troublemaking teenager?

_Force_, but he felt terribly confused when it came to Revan...

Dustil shook off the thoughts, hearing the sounds of voices conversing nearby. His feet had taken him automatically towards them, while he'd been deep in thought. His boots clicked loudly on the stone path, disturbing the quietness of the garden. It made him feel like a huge, clumsy and ungainly interloper, coarse and crude. As out of place in this elegant setting as a rancor.

He could tell the voices were female as he moved closer, but he didn't recognize them; none of them sounded like Lady Versenne's. He finally saw them, and Lady Versenne herself, as he walked past a large, flower-covered bush.

Lady Versenne sat propped on a pile of brightly-colored cushions, taking her ease in a lounge chair. A large pile of datapads sat in front of her, along with a portable computer console with a built-in holo projector. A pair of women in the ubiquitious House Vosaryk uniforms were talking near her, though Lady Versenne did not join in their conversation, nor did she take heed of them.

Lady Versenne smiled at his appearance. Dustil felt his heart skip a beat. She turned and gestured to the other women, who moved off, giggling suspiciously to each other, making him very uncomfortable. He saw the shadows of several guards nearby, but they were all deferentially out of earshot. He examined her surreptitiously.

Lady Versenne was no longer wearing the street clothes that had rendered her nearly anonymous in a crowd, but in a dark blue robe, thick and heavy. Gold and silver thread made shining rivers on her sleeves and shoulders, and colorful red-and-orange prints made bright geometric designs against the dark background. Her legs were covered with a blanket.

Only the tiny medical monitor peeking out from one sleeve and her drawn, pale face betrayed her debilitation. Her hair had been washed and brushed clear of snarls, arranged tidily. It spilled in curling waves down her back, with a short braid dangling from her right temple.

Lady Versenne waved a hand at a chair, one of several, set across the table from her. "Please, sit, sir." She tilted her head. "Ah, I'm sorry, we have not been properly introduced. My name is Versenne Vosaryk. Please forgive me for not rising." She smiled apologetically, with a wry twist to her lips.

Dustil ducked a shallow, awkward bow. "Oh, uh, my name is Stiller, Lady Versenne," Dustil said, cursing his nervous stammer. At least he still had the presence of mind to use his alias. He sat gingerly down on the edge of the chair she had waved him to.

"Please, in private, let us dispense with the formalities, Stiller. Call me Versenne," she said with another smile.

Dustil felt his heart melt. "Uh, um, alright. Versenne." He rubbed the back of his head. _Stick with the plan._ "I was, uh, wondering how you're feeling, you know, after, uh, everything that happened. Shouldn't you be, uh, resting in bed?" He winced mentally, and hoped she wouldn't tease him for his choice of words. Revan, for a certainty, wouldn't have let that go.

"Oh, I'm feeling fine, now," Versenne said. "I'm just a bit fatigued. I had a bad reaction to the drug they injected me with, the medics tell me. I myself have no recollection of anything after feeling the needle." She rubbed her arm absently.

Dustil decided not to distress her by telling her she'd actually been, technically, dead. For a few minutes. "I'm, uh, glad you're feeling okay now."

Versenne smiled shyly. "Thank you."

Dustil twitched a hand around at the guards earnestly trying to be unobtrusive; a difficult proposition for people wearing half-armor and toting around heavy repeating blasters. "I, uh, don't see how they were able to get close enough to be able to snatch you, Versenne. Not without a small army--I mean, I only saw ten of them."

Versenne looked shamefaced. "I should not have tried to leave without my escort. I took only my personal bodyguard, Bospho. Well, when I say 'took', I actually sneaked away without any protection at all, and dear Bospho caught me." Her face lit with an impish smile, which immediately disappeared like the sun behind a dark cloud.

Dustil desperately wanted her to smile again. "What happened?" he asked, hoping to get her quickly through the bad parts of her story.

"Poor Bospho... he was gravely injured trying to protect me." Versenne's face furrowed with distress. "Da was... was most wroth with him, and wanted to dismiss him from the House in disgrace. But he saw how Bospho was wounded well nigh to death, and I begged my father to let him stay. He agreed he'd acquitted his duty well." She plucked at the corner of the coverlet on her legs. "This was all my fault..."

Dustil shook his head vigorously. "No, it's not your fault! You, you couldn't have known someone was out there waiting to get you!" he said reassuringly, trying to make her smile again.

"If I had not foolishly decided to slip away from my security detachment, none of this would have happened!" Versenne cried.

"Why were you trying to slip away from your, uh, bodyguards, anyway?" Dustil asked, trying to divert her.

"Oh, I will sound so silly..." Versenne's fair skin flushed with embarrassment.

Dustil put on what he hoped was a properly sympathetic face. "Oh, go on, you can tell me. I won't go tattling on you," he said persuasively.

Versenne looked uncertainly at him. Dustil smiled encouragingly at her. She wavered for a moment, then visibly came to a decision. "I was... I was going to sneak off to see the annual Bazaar." At his blank look of incomprehension, she explained. "The Bazaar is the annual Gathering of Houses, held every year at the Transients Dome. Every House on Sluis Van set up kiosks at the Dome. Thousands of Houses, large and small, rich and poor, attend. Many galactic visitors also go there, because the competition for goods and contracts is always fierce, and even fiercer at the Bazaar. Many offworld companies also set up booths there."

Dustil nodded. All offworld traffic and business was conducted in the appropriately-named Transients Dome, a special habitat set aside to house any offworlders staying less than a year. It was, in fact, where all the hotels were located, along with all the businesses who catered especially to them. Revan had wanted to go see what all the fuss was about, but had been outvoted when he and Carth had heard it was all shopping on the business-to-business level.

Versenne looked quite wistful while she'd described the Bazaar to him. "I went there once with my father. It was absolutely wonderful! Smells I'd never experienced, the sights I saw... it was all incredibly enthralling." She sighed dreamily.

Dustil scratched his head. "But, why couldn't you have just gone with your bodyguards?" he asked reasonably.

Versenne sighed again, this time with frustation. "I... well, I could have. Da would have allowed me to go... but it's not the same, do you see, when you're hedged all about with so many protectors, you cannot see your hand in front of your face for the bodyguards. People treat you differently. I would much rather be Versenne, fellow spectator and part of the crowd, not part of the spectacle. I do not enjoy such attention." She wrinkled her nose.

Dustil nodded sympathetically. He'd seen how much his father enjoyed the anonymity his disguise afforded him. Carth hated being in the center of attention, hounded constantly by reporters on Coruscant. Revan took the attention and consequent obnoxious media badgering with more grace, but enjoyed it--if she enjoyed it at all--even less. He'd been jealous, initially, of their fame, until he saw just how much they had to put up with at the many receptions and dinners they still had to suffer. It was a wonder neither of them had yet died of exhaustion. Or indigestion.

He raised his eyebrows. "Well... it looks like you need them." And he thought _he'd_ had it bad, having both his father and Revan hovering over him all the time. He wasn't wrapped in cotton like Versenne was.

Versenne nodded glumly. "I won't be able to go _anywhere_ now without at least a dozen bodyguards." She sighed heavily. "And I probably won't be allowed to attend the Bazaar this year. Da will say it's too dangerous, and that it would be a just punishment for my foolishness. And he'd be right!" she wailed, face falling.

Dustil blinked, at a loss as to how to comfort her. Distraction. He had to distract her. He groped for a suitable topic. "Versenne, I was, uh, wondering, if you could tell me a little about House Vosaryk. I mean, I, uh, don't know anything about your House other than the famous shipyards," he lied smoothly. He had no idea if Vosaryk Shipyards were famous or not.

Versenne perked immediately at the change in subject he'd suggested, as eager as he, it seemed, to speak of something other than a pleasure she would miss.

He listened with half of his attention to Versenne chatter animatedly about the holdings and businesses House Vosaryk owned, operated or had controlling interests in. The rest was taken up with watching her, as she punctuated her words with graceful gestures. A servant appeared and disappeared, as if equipped with a stealth generator, to deposit a tray of drinks and snacks on the table. Versenne absently took a glass and sipped at it, before continuing. He made small noises at the appropriate moments to encourage more speech from her.

As she spoke, Dustil felt his heart sinking more and more. Revan had been right; House Vosaryk was an incredibly wealthy family. And what the hell was he doing, rubbing elbows with the scion of such a House? It was clear that, on Sluis Van at least, Versenne was considered nobility.

And he? He was a former Sith, son of a famous father, true, but with no actual accomplishments to his own name. At least, no accomplishments he was now proud of, and that would not horrify someone like Versenne. Still, he was also in training to be a Jedi...

He snorted mentally in derision at himself. He wondered how well _that_ would go over with Jolee. _I joined the Jedi to impress a girl..._ Jolee would laugh long and loud at that, he suspected. And so would Revan, he thought glumly. Rolling on the floor uncontrollably, even.

Strangely enough, he thought his father would be the most sympathetic and understanding. Perhaps it wasn't so strange... He'd been discovering that they had a lot in common, and shared many traits, during the time on their voyage. This stranger who was his father... was a lot like him. _Weird._

The cadences of Versenne's speech were slowing, alerting him that she was nearing the end of things to talk about. He returned his attention back fully upon her.

Versenne looked ashamed suddenly. "Do you realize, in all this time I've been speaking to you, I have not once thanked you for saving my life?"

Dustil flapped both hands at her. "No, no, you don't have to thank me!"

Versenne shook her head, the braid of hair at her temple swaying. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. "No, I must. I have been terribly remiss in my duty and my honor." She bowed her head deeply to him, her hair falling forward to hide her face. Dustil was sure she would've knelt if she could have. "I, Versenne Vosaryk, do offer my humblest thanks to you, Stiller, for saving my life."

Dustil hastily returned the bow. "You--you're welcome."

"Da told me he has already rewarded you, but as Heiress of House Vosaryk, I command some small authority and resources. I, too, wish to reward you... is there anything in particular I might offer to you?" Versenne asked diffidently.

Dustil shook his head. "No!" That came out a bit too harshly and loudly. "No," he said, a little more calmly. "We're perfectly fine with what Lord Vosaryk gave us." And what he wanted couldn't be said without dying of mortification. If he even knew what he wanted. And what _did_ he want, exactly? His desires were all... muddled.

Versenne looked dubious at his denial, but did not protest further. Perhaps no one was idiotic enough on Sluis Van to refuse anything House Vosaryk offered. "Please, you have told me your name, but I know little else about you. Your captain seemed a, a very well-traveled and experienced woman. You must have seen and visited many worlds. Have you seen Coruscant?" she said, a trifle enviously.

Dustil nodded. "I have... it's a beautiful planet-wide city. The view of Coruscant's night-side from space is breathtaking." Versenne's look of envy deepened, surprising him. "You've never seen Coruscant?" She shook her head sadly. "But... given all this," he waved a hand at the tower, and all the wealth it implied, "you can afford it, obviously. Didn't you say the House has offices there?"

"Yes, we do. But they are overseen by our factors, not adminstered directly by Da or myself." Versenne looked at him with hungry eyes, as a prisoner might look, from the trapped confines of his cell, out at a free bird. "I have never left Sluis Van," she said mournfully.

"Why not?" Dustil blurted, shocked.

Versenne's expression of envy disappeared, to be replaced by sadness. "My... my mother died in a ship... accident. Her starship exploded. I had been watching her ship depart, and saw..." Her eyes became distant. "There was a brilliant flare in the sky, like a star gone nova. We are fortunate that we dwell in these habitats, else we would have had debris pelting the planet for days," she said slowly.

Dustil's eyes widened. "I'm... I'm sorry." His heart twisted a little. So they had something more in common other than hair color, after all.

"It was six years ago. Long ago... and far away," Versenne said. But the sorrow in Versenne's eyes told him it hadn't been _nearly_ long enough. As if it could ever be long enough. "Normally I would have been taken on a tour of all of our offices throughout the galaxy, but after that... Da has forbidden it," she explained, in a slightly more conversational tone.

He hadn't missed the pause in her words. "It... wasn't an accident?" he asked carefully. They'd wandered onto a subject he had some serious misgivings about. He walked with trepidation.

"Opinions... differ. Da believes with a conviction that borders on--he believes strongly that my mother was assassinated. But both our own in-House investigators and the Sluissi's found nothing. My House has many enemies, and therefore many suspects, but nothing could be proved. If it _had_ been an assassination, the tracks were covered most carefully--and professionally." Versenne's face was stiff and pale as she spoke, recounting the tale as if she were discussing the weather on another planet.

Dustil took note of what she'd almost said about Lord Vosaryk. With a conviction that borders on... madness? Obsession? Whatever it was, it was unflattering enough for her to edit out of her speech. "My mother died, too. Four years ago," he offered.

Versenne cast Dustil a sympathetic look of sadness, one that seemed to acknowledge their shared painful experiences. They both fell silent for a time, each contemplating the similarities in their lives, for all the vast differences.

Versenne gave him an inquiring look, silently asking after his mother's fate. Dustil took a glass of some sort of juice and sipped at it, stalling for time to think. The juice was a little tart, not too sweet, and wonderfully refreshing in his suddenly dry mouth.

He pondered on what to say. Revan had discussed this with him and Carth. They were allowed to make up any past they liked, within reason, as long as it was consistent with their disguises as smugglers. He decided, then and there, to tell Versenne as much of the truth as he could. He didn't know why, but he didn't want to lie to her; he wanted to tell her the truth, as much as he could.

He wondered at that. He couldn't lie in Revan's hearing; she had an uncanny knack for spotting falsehood. And his father was almost as good. Was it because he _could_ lie, and get away with it, and so he wouldn't?

Versenne must have taken his silence for reticence or refusal, because she smiled and shook her head. "You needn't tell me if you do not wish it, Stiller. It was rude of me to pry."

Dustil shook his head. "No, it's just... I haven't spoken to anyone about it, before." And he realized it was true. He hadn't, not even to Selene. Or his father, nor Revan.

He took a deep breath, then exhaled it in a long, silent sigh. "My homeworld is on the Outer Rim, and it was one of the first planets to be overrun by the Sith, when they returned after the Mandalorian Wars ended. My mother... died in the bombardment." There. That was the truth, as baldly stated as he could put it.

Versenne looked stricken. "I am... 'sorry' seems as inadequate as a drop of water on Tatooine, does it not?" She fluttered her hands at him helplessly.

Dustil shrugged, uncomfortable with his own candidness, though he didn't regret it. What he regretted was causing her distress. "It was four years ago. I've... gotten over it." _Right, pull the other one, why don't you? You're not fooling anybody._

Versenne's skeptical look echoed his thoughts. "I... see. Do we really ever 'get over' the loss of our loved ones? Time has dulled the edges of the pain, but at times, my sorrow seems as sharp as ever, and can cut deeply, still."

Dustil nodded mutely. He stared into his glass of juice.

"I am fortunate I still have my father," Versenne said after a few moments. "May I ask after yours?"

Dustil sipped at his drink, hiding his face behind the rim. "He's alive," he replied tersely.

Versenne's eyebrows crimped, then rose a little.

Dustil sighed. "He's a soldier. I don't know him well. He was always off to war all the time... He fought in the Mandalorian Wars. He came back for a while after they ended, but then he left again to fight in the new Sith War." He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Versenne looked puzzled at his words and tone. "You do not sound... pleased."

Dustil clenched his hands around the glass, his knuckles turning white. "I... it's just... he should have been there to protect us!" He sucked in his breath, appalled, feeling his cheeks heat with embarrassment at his outburst. _Now you've done it. That was _real_ mature of you. Not._

Versenne fingered the gold thread on her sleeve nervously. "I do not understand... he is a soldier, he _was_ protecting you and your mother." She seemed baffled by the paradox he'd posed. Her brow furrowed. "Did he come back... changed? Soldiers returning from war become hard and cruel, from their experiences. House Vosaryk has some retainers who are like that."

Dustil shook his head. "No! No... he wasn't, wasn't cruel. Not at all." Though his father had been more... subdued. Grim. Less likely to smile or laugh, especially on leave right after a particularly hard campaign, though he loosened up some after a few days in the company of his family. He hadn't understood... he'd thought his father's preoccupation had been because he'd itched to go back to the fight. The reality had been much more complex. It was no wonder that Carth so obviously treasured the laughter Revan brought him, even if most of it was at his father's own expense.

Dustil worked his mouth, trying to convey to her his resentment at his father's absence in his life, how hard it was on his mother... How terrifyingly lonely he'd been when he was captured. "I..." he began, then slumped. "I just... never got to know him. As... my father. He was just away so much... It got so I couldn't even remember his face unless I looked at holos of him."

Versenne gave him a strangely understanding smile. "I... begin to understand."

Dustil looked up at her, surprised. "You do, don't you?" he asked wonderingly. She nodded.

Versenne looked at him shrewdly, aware he was leaving quite a lot out of his recitation. About four years' worth. "And... what happened to you?" she probed delicately.

"I... I was, um... I was captured by the Sith," Dustil said reluctantly after a moment. He hoped he wouldn't regret his decision to tell her all the truth he could. _Right, so go ahead and tell her you were captured, taught to become a Dark Jedi, learned how to bully people and how to use your powers to kill. I don't think so._ He clamped his lips closed on further explanation.

Versenne gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. "Oh... that must've been a, a _terrible_ experience!" Her lips twisted ruefully. "It makes my wish to go to the Bazaar rather petty."

Dustil shook his hand a little. "It, uh, it wasn't all bad. Um." How was he supposed to explain that he hadn't been treated as a prisoner, but was pampered instead, all calculated to turn him towards the Sith and the Dark Side? The simplest way to go about that was not to, of course.

Versenne stared disbelievingly at him, probably imagining him surviving all sorts of tortures and hardships. He didn't have the heart to tell her there'd been very little hardship involved. "And... however did you escape from them, to come to be here?" She leaned forward, her lips parted a little in anticipation of his tale.

Dustil ruthlessly suppressed a counterproductive urge to embellish his story, sweeping away visions of telling her how he'd fought against ten--no, twenty!--Sith to escape from his cell, fighting through incredible odds to reach a ship... instead of the rather boring version where he'd simply walked out of the Academy to reach a Czerka freighter in Dreshdae, bribing the captain with an obscene amount of credits his father had slipped him to take him to Telos.

_No_, he would _not_ lie. _Damn._ He sighed inwardly. He would've lied without compunction just a few months ago, cheerfully, but... _Huh._ He was either growing up, or Revan's and Carth's integrity was rubbing off on him.

"My father found me not too long ago," Dustil said, prudently leaving out the part where he'd wanted to kill Carth on sight.

Versenne clapped her hands delightedly. "Oh, a happy ending after all! Or perhaps, dare I say it, a happy beginning." She smiled happily for him. He couldn't help smiling back. "He must be very brave, to have dared to break into that Sith prison to rescue you," she said. She sighed dreamily, no doubt envisioning daring deeds and romantic fights in some imagined Sith stronghold.

Dustil decided not to enlighten her as to what had really happened. Her imagination cut close enough to the truth. It _had_ been a Sith prison, though he hadn't known it at the time, and his father _had_ fought his way out of the Academy, even if he hadn't fought his way _in_.

He blinked, bemused by this view of his father, seen through her eyes. And was she that far wrong in her estimations?

Was _he_?

"It seems to me, though... it seems to me that you must love him, if you missed him so much," Versenne mused, her head cocked to one side. Her hair fell in a wave that shone like sunlight made solid.

Dustil closed his eyes briefly, dazzled by the light shining off her hair. "I... I suppose you're right. I do. But... but I'm still... still angry with him, you know? For... not being there." He hadn't gotten over that yet, it seemed. It had been easy to forget, during the time he'd spent with Carth on the _Ebon Hawk_. He obviously hadn't forgotten enough.

Versenne toyed with a long lock of her hair, twining it about a finger. Her face grew abstracted. "But... if he had been... Would he not have been killed along with your mother?" She cocked her head to the other side. "If your father is a soldier... I imagine he would not have stood idly by while the Sith devastated your homeworld."

"No... no, he wouldn't have," Dustil agreed. His father would have taken an active part in the defense... organizing the evacuation, rallying the militia and what Republic vessels had been docked on Telos... And he would've been blown out of the sky in the face of the overwhelming numbers of the Sith fleet. Taking a good deal of the enemy with him, Dustil was sure, but still quite... dead.

_Dead, dead, dead..._

He rubbed his face, but was unable to shake off that chilling image. It had a certain cold clarity, almost as if it were a Force vision, like the ones he'd read about in the Academy archives. He'd read of Jedi who had received visions of the past, future and... _what might have been_.

Visions of _what might have been..._ Now _that_ was a damnation that made the torture cells seem like a quaint exercise in pleasure.

"Are you alright, Stiller? You've grown pale as a, as a ghost," Versenne said, worried concern in her voice.

"What?" Dustil looked up at her, startled out of his thoughts. "Oh, uh, yes, I'm fine." He forced a smile on his lips, despite the horror that still licked coldly up his spine and froze his heart.

Versenne looked dubious at his statement. She waved a hand, and a servant materialized right next to her. She murmured in his ear; the servant bowed and disappeared as quickly and as mysteriously as he'd arrived.

She took a delicately-made teapot and poured some sort of aromatic hot liquid into a mug that was decorated with the same motif as the pot. She held it out to him and commanded, "Drink this."

Dustil took it from her gingerly, his cold fingers brushing accidentally on her warm ones. He controlled himself from jerking at the brief touch. He sipped. "Uh, thanks." The hot, fragrant tea warmed his heart as it traveled down into his stomach, heating him back up as it melted the lump of ice that sat in the middle of his gut. The cold seeped gradually out of his fingers from the warmth that radiated through the thin ceramic.

Versenne watched him closely, evidently satisfied that the tea was doing its work. He did feel a little better. "I've bespoken lunch, Stiller... Would you... would you do me the honor of joining me for the meal?" she asked shyly. She folded her hands into her robes, smiling hopefully at him.

Dustil restrained the first thing that came to his lips, an enthusiastic _Oh, hell yes!_, paring it down to a thankful and properly subdued, "Oh, I... sure, I'd, uh, love to." He smiled gratefully, he hoped, and not feverishly.

Versenne's blindingly-bright smile made him melt. The servant rematerialized with a repulsorlift-enabled cart, and deftly served both of them with dishes he didn't recognize at all.

Dustil spent the next few hours in dreamy contentment in that idyllic setting, and forgot all about his father and Revan and all of his confused feelings about both of them.

* * *

Phew! This was a difficult chapter to write. I find it rather hard to get into Dustil's head, what with being the wrong gender, wrong age and no experience with a similar background and situation. Hope you all enjoy, though!

Also must thank schmoopy, snarkywench and Skydiver88 for beta-reading this chapter! blows kisses and throws Godiva chocolate bricks

Trunxluvr82190: Hmmmmm. ;) Not sayin' nothin', bwhahahah. Stay tuned! :D

Redhead Ruth: Thanks for the compliments, but... 'steamy sexual undertones'? :o O.O Ehhhhh. You make my fic sound like a Danielle Steele novel. :D Which is not exactly what I'm shooting for... I didn't think my oblique suggestions were that, uh, blatant...

Lunatic Pandora1: Only 'kinda'? Hm. Canderous will make an appearance, never fear. :) Dustil threw away his lightsaber... it's mentioned in an early chapter.

Karna: I'm sorry you think the flashbacks are tedious. :( I use the flashbacks to show Revan and Carth's thoughts, mostly, and how Carth views my particular Revan, d'ya see. And this also shows you readers what she's like. Glad you like Ch. 29's, though. I'm not sure how many chapters I'm going to end up with... it was _supposed_ to have been over like, now. I only envisioned 30 or so. Thanks to a certain BioWare poster, it's ended up much longer. And more difficult. I may end up with 50...

Feza: Yes, yes, you get a cookie (with Godiva chocolate chips, even)... :p As for Dustil's new 'girlfriend'... whistles innocently

Aroseb: Hah, thanks! Read faster, dammit. :D

PhoenixFury03: Eh, Duneish, huh? :D

Ceridan: Thanks, glad you're enjoying the fic. :) The game doesn't go into Revan's reaction _at all_, but remember what kind of audience it's geared to. Also, the PC _is_ you, so any reaction your PC has is, well, _your_ reaction. I rather like how such a revelation was done in Xenogears, though, but that was tailored to an already-prepared PC, Fei. And I _will_ continue this story, never fear. I wrote the ending chapters in February... it's the 'sagging middle part', as athenaprime puts it, that's giving me trouble.

Emeraldstargazer: Thank you, thank you! :D Hm, as for concentrating on only some of the KOTOR characters, well, if I included all of them, I'd die of old age without ever finishing my fic. :p I'm not up to writing Canderous and Bastila, anyway. I can barely keep tabs on Carth, Revan and Dustil as it is... o.o;

sammie teufel: Bon appetite. :)

VMorticia/Kat Astrophe: Yes, I know it's you. :) Glad you enjoyed this chapter. The poster I'm referring to has a name that starts with a 'S' and ends with a 'pea'. :p :)

arrow maker: Hah! Got you to sign in, finally. :D


	31. Dare

**Chapter 31: Dare**

Carth looked up from the datapad he had propped on his knee at the sound of the door opening, and footsteps on the threshold. His hand automatically went to his belt, to grasp at a non-existent sword hilt. His blades were still in the box, perhaps fortunately. His son walked in, looking more relaxed than he'd seen him on the entire trip so far. Dustil was smiling thoughtfully, his eyes vague and distracted, until he focused on him and Revan.

Revan sat curled up in the circle of his other arm, leaning against him as she played her pipe quietly. She opened her eyes briefly to glance up at Dustil, then closed them again. Carth thought he detected a bit more curve to the corners of her lips than before.

Carth picked up his mug of beer and sipped to hide his reflexive movement. A servant had brought along lunch in Dustil's absence; he had to admit House Vosaryk fed its guests well. Since the servant had prepared only two place settings, someone had known Dustil had gone out, which meant they had the suite, and its inhabitants, under surveillance of some kind, keeping track somehow of how many bodies were in the room. Revan had put away her white noise generator some time ago to conserve power, so they were both 'on parade' again.

Carth put on an inviting smile. "Enjoy yourself, son?" he asked brightly. "Have you eaten?"

Dustil sat down on a chair across from him. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. And yes, I've already eaten." His mouth kept twitching upwards, despite his visible effort to keep his expression serious, Carth noticed. _Ah-hah_, he thought. He kept his smile hidden.

Revan had finished her song and put away her pipe into her shirt pocket. "And how is Lady Versenne feeling after all the adventures she went through?" she asked innocently.

Dustil flushed a little. "Ver--Lady Versenne says she's feeling fine now."

Carth kept his eyebrows from rising. So his son was already on a first-name basis with Lady Versenne. _Interesting._ "That's good to hear."

Revan smiled. "I'm glad to hear that she suffered no lasting harm." She held up an archaic piece of paper that had been stamped with an impressive collection of colorful seals and fluttered it. "Do you think you might be interested in coming along to the shipyard tour?" she asked Dustil. "We already went on a tour of this place." She vented an appreciative whistle. "Very impressive."

"I thought you had no use for material wealth," Carth teased, his breath ruffling the hair on her head.

"I don't. Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it, though," Revan said with a grin as she looked up at him.

"Shipyard tour? Uh, sure... I'd love to go," Dustil said. "Uh... when we get back... do you think we could check out the Bazaar?" he asked nonchalantly.

Carth's brows flew up at this sudden interest. "The Bazaar? I thought you didn't want to go see a bunch of businesses haggling and bargaining. You were pretty firm about it being, well, boring."

"So did you, flyboy," Revan interjected. "A little culture will do you both some good."

"I thought you were referring to bacteria," Carth said with a laugh. His son made a face at him.

Revan snorted. "Ew. Gross, flyboy."

Dustil shrugged a trifle irritably. "I changed my mind." He offered no further explanation.

Revan was suppressing an ironic smirk, Carth could tell. He thought he knew why his son had just presented a complete turnaround from his earlier vehement opinion. He'd been reading up on the Sluis Van Houses, and apparently _all_ of them attended this Bazaar. Including House Vosaryk. He stifled his own smirk.

Dustil was looking at them both, searching their faces suspiciously for mirth at his expense. Carth made sure he received only a bland, innocent look in return.

Revan went to the panel of buttons next to the door and pressed one. "Well, then, no time like the present, right?"

Carth went to the lockbox and took out their weapons, tossing Dustil his blasters, then strapping on his own blades. "Yeah, we shouldn't wear out our welcome. They'll probably want to fumigate this place and count all the silverware and antiques."

*** * ***

The Bazaar was incredibly noisy and colorful, even from where Carth looked out at it from the hotel they were staying in, located in the Transients Dome. Their lodgings weren't of five-star quality, but it was still pretty decent. Even though they could have afforded the rates of the best hotel on the planet, it wouldn't have been in keeping with their disguises.

Still, it was well within their means as smugglers to get a pair of interconnected suites for themselves, with the best view the mid-class hotel offered, boasting small living rooms and tiny but fully-equipped kitchens. They'd parked JC-01 and BR-01 in the suite he shared with Revan. Revan, ever frugal and practical, had not paid for hotel meals; instead, she bought supplies for JC-01 to prepare. The meals were better than anything they could find even in the best restaurants, that way.

Of course, after the luxury he'd experienced in House Vosaryk's tower, it seemed shabby and dilapidated in comparison. He shrugged philosophically. He hadn't felt comfortable there. The richness had made him feel like a clumsy bantha in a ceramics boutique. He didn't have Revan's ability to fit in anywhere effortlessly, acting like she owned the place.

The scent of mint wafted from the subject of his thoughts. He turned to see Revan walking out of the refresher, whistling a lively tune. She threw herself onto the couch, sprawling comfortably, cheerfully sucking noisily on those vile, sinus-clearing candies she had such an unnatural fondness for.

He walked over and sat down next to her. This trip, if nothing else, had offered him the opportunity to see her in something other than bland Jedi robes. Not that she didn't look good even in the all-enveloping, drab-colored clothes that served Jedi for their uniforms. Her short vest left her arms bare to the shoulders, and also exposed her midriff, giving him a good view of all the scars that adorned her body.

He ran a finger lightly along a long, wide lightsaber burn scar that trailed out from under her vest on her right flank, down across her stomach to taper off under her navel. He frowned slightly, remembering how that one had nearly killed her.

She shifted, and he was distracted from his darkening thoughts by a tiny winking jewel on her stomach. He raised his eyebrows. "That's new."

Revan grinned a little sheepishly. "I couldn't resist taking Mission's dare." At his inquiring look, she elaborated. "We were shopping one day, and we were poking around in this store that sold jewelry for piercings. Mission said I didn't wear anything but Jedi robes and those evening gowns that cover everything up, and dared me to do a piercing and show it off. So, um, I did."

Carth circled the jewel in her navel with a thumb. He grinned. "Remind me to thank Mission properly when we see her again."

She smirked. "I'm glad you like it."

"You never wore anything like this back when we were still looking for the Star Forge," mused Carth. He traced another scar that stretched from her elbow to her wrist. "A damned shame, that," he added with another grin.

Revan smiled. "You've got to leave me _some_ mystery, flyboy." Her smile faded. "I never had reason to, um, display myself like this. Certainly someone with as many scars as I do has even less reason than most."

Carth kissed the inside of her wrist, his lips trailing along a short but wide lightsaber burn. "Well, I think you're the most beautiful woman in the galaxy, scars or no. If you have any idea all the times I wanted to see just where they disappeared under your shirt, back then, every time you took off your robe for weapons practice..."

"Aw, that's sweet of you to say," Revan said, her lips stretching in a slow grin. "Is that when you started ogling me?"

"Mhm." Carth buried his nose into her still-damp hair, inhaling deeply of the flowery herbal scent of it. "You did say you didn't mind." He rubbed her bare belly with one hand, and wondered if he could convince himself and her to stay in and just let Dustil go solo for once...

"And I didn't. And don't." She pushed him away slightly so that she could put on her shirt, to his disappointment. "Come on, Dustil should be ready to go to the Bazaar now."

Carth sighed deeply, but stood up and checked his blasters and pouches. They were stocked up on medpacs, stims and anything else they might need if this sightseeing trip turned out to be as exciting as the one they had yesterday.

A chime at the door that connected their suite with Dustil's warned them of his entrance. Dustil stuck his head through the door, to see his father and Revan both ready to go. His son was also armed, and what looked to be a full pack hung from his shoulder. He nodded approvingly at his son.

"Carth, why don't you bring the speeder 'round, and we'll meet you in the lobby?" Revan suggested.

Carth raised an eyebrow at her request. She was giving him that look, the one that said _Go away so I can speak privately_. He shrugged and headed for the door. Whatever she wanted to discuss with Dustil was none of his business, really. Which wouldn't stop him from trying to wheedle it out of her later, though she could turn as inscrutable as Jolee when the mood took her, or she felt it necessary to keep things in confidence.

Revan waited until she felt Carth's presence had indeed left the floor, before waving Dustil into his suite. Dustil looked at her curiously, then shrugged and stepped aside.

The living room in Dustil's suite had had its furniture pushed to the walls, leaving the middle of the space empty for their daily weapons practice. Dustil sat down on a couch that had been pushed back to sit under the window.

"Dustil."

Dustil looked up at Revan. "Yes?" She was looking unwontedly serious. He straightened up. She sat down next to him.

"Dustil..." Revan hesitated, then squared her slight shoulders and plowed on. "What are your intentions towards Lady Versenne?" she asked bluntly.

Dustil blinked, feeling his cheeks heat. "I... but how did you... it's..." he stammered. He shut his mouth and took a deep breath. "I--I don't know. I mean, I, uh, like her..." He winced at his tongue-tied eloquence.

Revan's lips twitched, despite her grave expression. "I see." She regarded him thoughtfully, with an unsettlingly-penetrating gaze. Dustil fought the urge to squirm.

"Why are you asking? And why would it be any of your business?" Dustil asked irritably, growing angry and outraged at this invasion of his privacy. He stomped down on the first flickers. It would impress no one if he lost his temper again, only proving Jolee's words right.

Revan pursed her lips. "It's none of my business, true. I'm not going to dictate how you should live your life, and certainly not who you want in it or not. However..." Her gaze sharpened. "I would strongly recommend that you don't use your powers to, shall we say, _expedite_ matters."

Dustil stared at Revan, aghast at what she'd just implied. "You, you think I would--" he sputtered, so angrily offended he was practically incoherent. He couldn't think straight, either.

Revan didn't flinch, nor did she look at all repentant. "Let there be no lies between us on this, Dustil. The thought had to have crossed your mind at one time or other," she said quietly.

Dustil glared at her as he clenched his fists, trying to hide how shaken he was by her certainty. _How did she know?_ "I--" he began. He was so angry he thought his head might explode from the pressure. "How dare you!"

Revan simply raised an eyebrow.

Dustil gritted his teeth; he wanted to slap that expression off her face so badly. "I... how could you even..." His anger suddenly ran out of him like water from a broken pitcher, when he remembered how close he'd been to using just a little of the Force to persuade Versenne to see him again. He slumped, raising a weary hand to rub at the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. The memory swam up, as accusing as a bloodstain.

_ Dustil and Lady Versenne lingered over their desserts and caffa, both of them speaking of inconsequential things, like what subjects they were studying. He could truthfully say he was being trained as a pilot and using the sword, while she told him of classes in accounting and business management. _

_ "It must be boring," he said in sympathy. To his surprise, she shook her head. _

_ "It's not boring. Not to me. The dynamics of the market forces on Sluis Van have always fascinated me, which is perhaps a good thing, since I may one day take the seat as Head of my House," Lady Versenne said. She smiled wryly. "I grant you it is an interest that not everyone is so fascinated with." _

_ On cue, a servant appeared with a stack of datapads and printouts. Lady Versenne looked quite surprised to see him. Turning a chagrined face to him, lips touched with irritation, she spread her hands in apology. "I'm sorry, but I became so engrossed in our conversation I forgot I had an appointment with some of our factors here." _

_ Dustil frowned. "Are you sure you should be straining yourself so soon? I mean, you should be resting." _

_ Lady Versenne shook her head. "This meeting is too important to postpone or cancel. I must offer you my sincere apologies for this interruption." _

_ Dustil shook his head, and stood. He bowed his farewell awkwardly. He was incredibly grateful to Revan for the lessons in eating etiquette, but he really needed to ask her to give him more lessons in deportment. He never thought he'd ever need them. "Uh, thank you for the meal, Versenne." He'd better make a strategic retreat on this positive note before he either bored her or made an embarrassing social gaffe. _

_ "No, it is I who must thank you again, Stiller," Lady Versenne said solemnly, inclining her head deeply. _

_ Dustil smiled and returned her bow, fancying he was getting the hang of it. He turned to leave, but he was suddenly shaken by an insane, inexplicable desire to make sure Versenne would see him again. What were the chances that they would ever cross paths again, after all? She would stay here in her tower, and he would go off with Revan and his father along to the rest of their stops on Outer Rim. There'd be no more reason for them to meet anymore. _

_ He could use just a little Force persuasion, so slight a use of the Force, not even Revan could detect it... Just six words, six simple words he could put in her mind, ever so carefully, 'You want to see me again...' And she would obey. _

No! _ He turned away abruptly, hoping no one saw the conflict on his face or body language. It was a lie he wanted to perpetuate, and he didn't want to lie to her. Didn't want _her_ to lie to _him_. Lies were what got him into this mess. Lies were what Selene had fed him in exchange for his trust. And his love. _

_ No more. He was done with lies. Done. _

_ His heart heavy with guilt, he turned down the path, back to the doors. _

"I'm glad you resisted the temptation, no matter how innocent you thought it might've been," Revan said softly, breaking into his memories.

Dustil glanced at her, then looked away. In a way, her understanding and sympathy was almost worse than any bellowed angry accusation. She didn't dress him down, she _sympathized_ with him. She was so damned... _reasonable_. "I shouldn't have thought it in the first place."

"You're only human, Dustil. We all face such temptations, every day. The triumph is in being strong enough to say, 'I want to do this, but I won't, because it's wrong'," Revan said gently.

Dustil turned to her. "Do you?"

Revan's expression turned rueful. "Do you think I wore a disguise on Coruscant because I liked dressing up?" She paused. "Well, I do, but that's neither here nor there." She waved a hand. "There have been many, many times when I've wanted to Force persuade some old boor at those receptions to leave me alone, or tell those damnable reporters to take a hike. But to use the Force like that is petty." She stared intently into his eyes. "To use it to compel some pale semblance of affection is, I think, infinitely more repulsive."

Dustil nodded. "Yeah... I mean, yeah, you're right." He felt terribly guilty for having even entertained the thought of using the Force to compel Versenne.

"It would not be love. It would be _rape_," Revan continued gravely.

Dustil inhaled sharply. He wanted to deny he'd ever do such a thing, but... if he coerced Versenne like that... How different _was_ it from rape? Worse than rape, actually, to invade her mind so.

"What's more, you don't need to resort to such dirty tricks, Dustil," Revan said earnestly. "You're a handsome young man," she grinned at his renewed blush, "And intelligent. Not everyone can catch the attention of such an affluent young woman who's probably seen it all, and hold it." She leaned forward, her gaze intense as she looked at him. "Force persuasion is an easily-abused power that should only be used in dire emergencies. It shouldn't be used to influence people for anything less than a life-or-death situation."

Dustil nodded hasty agreement. "Have you ever... influenced Father?" he asked curiously after a moment.

"No," came the firm reply. "I have never compelled Carth. And I never will. To do such an abhorrent thing to him would be a betrayal of the trust I worked so hard to earn. I may ask, I may wheedle, I may whine, I may beg, but I would never, ever compel him." Revan's face lit with a smug and mischievous smile. "Besides, I've never needed it."

The warmth that usually lurked in the depths of her eyes fled, growing as chill and cold as the impersonal barrels of a pair of blasters. "I suggest you use the same discretion," she cautioned coolly.

Dustil swallowed, seeing the implied threat in her cold, cold eyes. "Yes." She'd told him about what Nomi Sunrider had done to Ulic Qel-Droma. He thought death would be infinitely preferable to such a fate.

Not to mention how disappointed his father would be if he was ever found out. And since when had his father's good opinion started to matter to him...? But it did. Maybe it always had...

Revan's good humor returned as quickly as it had left. "Good!" She slapped his shoulder amiably. "If you ever need advice on girls, you know where to find me!" she offered with a cheerful leer and a wink.

Dustil choked. "Uh, uh, I'll, uh, keep you in mind, thanks," he managed to squeak out. He could just imagine what sort of outrageous suggestions she'd give him, too. He felt his face heat as his blush came rushing back with a vengeance.

"Come on, your father's waiting, and he's not a patient man," Revan said, chuckling at his discomfiture, and stood.

"Revan..." Dustil said hesitantly. Revan turned back and looked at him expectantly, an inviting smile on her face. He hesitated. A few months ago, if anyone had told him he'd be asking the former Dark Lord of the Sith for advice on girls, he would've turned them in to the psychotherapy ward without hesitation.

And who else could he talk to? Mission? He cringed at the thought. She'd have a field day, and tease him mercilessly. He was glad she was on Kashyyyk, and not here to witness his clumsy attempts to... to what? Impress a girl, that's it. Jolee? A possibility, but he and Mission were both light-years away. Zaalbar wouldn't understand bizarre human courting rituals. The droids were out of the question. Juhani seemed too alien, and she was also on another planet.

Which left his father and Revan. His father... It was too soon for that. He wanted to confide in Carth, but something held him back. Maybe it was expected disappointment, for all the times he wasn't there for him. He wasn't yet... comfortable with the idea. He'd gone so long without his father... He didn't even know how to talk to Carth about this, or even what to say. Maybe later.

It didn't help that confiding such intimate things was a potentially-fatal thing to do back in the Sith Academy. He was still held by old habits, habits that had helped him survive on Korriban, but they perhaps made him a bit... socially awkward.

It would have to be Revan. Some things could only be confided to a relative stranger. And Revan's a woman, too...

_I must be desperate._

Revan was still waiting patiently for him to speak. Dustil gathered his scattered thoughts and wits together, and tried to form some coherent sentences without sounding like a babbling idiot. "Do you... do you think I have a chance? With someone like her?"

Revan raised her eyebrows. "You move rather quickly, Dustil. I mean, you hardly know her at all."

Dustil rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish hand. "That's... that's true." Insecurity warred with embarrassment. Insecurity won by a slight margin. "So... you don't think I've got a chance." He slumped in anticipated dejection.

Revan shook her head vigorously, the beads in her hair clacking loudly as if punctuating her negative. "No, no, Dustil, I don't think that at all. I was just commenting on the fact that you know her all of a few hours..." A mysterious smile glimmered on her lips. "Still, sometimes it happens that way."

"It's just that..." Dustil waved his hands around, trying to explain. "It's just that she's, well, the heiress of House Vosaryk, and I'm... I'm just a scruffy smuggler. And my real identity's nothing to write home about."

"Well, neither is mine." Revan arched an eyebrow. "Why don't you give it some time? See how things go? I think it may be a bit premature to say either way, you see."

"I, I guess you're right." Dustil sighed.

"I haven't met the girl yet, so I can't say for sure, but you certainly have more than a chance. I mean, you got through the horde of guards surrounding her, which is probably what daunts would-be suitors in the first place." Revan's eyes crinkled when Dustil chuckled weakly at that. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "The Houses are quite forward thinking on Sluis Van. No surprise, really, given the cutthroat competitiveness. They're not a true hereditary class, like the nobility on Alderaan, say. Advancement is all based on merit, so you don't have to worry about your blood being too common or some such. And you did help rescue her, after all. You've made an unforgettable impression," Revan said reassuringly.

Dustil felt a little better. Her advice ultimately boiled down to 'wait and see'. Well, and what did he imagine she would advise? Serenade Lady Versenne at her window? Since she lived in a tower, that would involve flying a speeder at the same time, which would likely get him shot by the guards for trespassing.

Not to mention that he can't sing or play an instrument. He could induce fear in his opponents, and had he still had his lightsaber, he could saber up to three if he threw it, but singing was not within his abilities.

He shook his head. How the hell had his mind gotten onto this subject? He hadn't had his head so turned around since... since Selene had arrived in his life.

He told himself sternly to walk cautiously, that he, as Revan had pointed out, knew next to nothing about Lady Versenne. Nothing except how her silver eyes sparkled when she was excited, how her hands waved gracefully in the air when she was expounding a point, how one finger would twirl a lock of her bright platinum hair in thought, how a slight line would appear between her brows, deepened in a small pensive frown when she was thinking...

Lady Versenne was like nothing in his experience. Completely opposite in both looks and temperament to Selene, who'd been a brash, impatient and fiery personality, with a wide streak of mischievousness in her. Lady Versenne was everything Selene was not. Polite, composed, elegant, carrying herself with an unconscious aristocratic air...

He was startled out of his ruminations by Revan's discreet cough. He smiled sheepishly, chagrined to have been caught woolgathering. "Sorry... uh, let's go before Father comes back up here wondering what happened to us." He stood and tugged on his pack more comfortably.

Revan grinned and walked out, and he followed on her heels.

* * *

If you haven't figured it out already, I've taken vast, vast liberties with Sluis Van. As far as I know, there's absolutely no resemblance in my Sluis Van to the Sluis Van in the book, the title of which escapes me at the moment. The Houses and politics are based very loosely on those of Italy around the 1400s, not _Dune_, though Herbert may have based his _Dune_ Houses on Italy, too, for all I know.

With thanks to Sera Terranova for beta-reading this chapter. :)

Lunatic Pandora1: Lightsabers are indeed cool.

grundoon: Hey, at least you made it up to this point. Since you got past Chapter 1, I'm glad I held your attention. :) And yes, I'm glad you caught that a lot of the animosity in Dustil is beneath the surface. As for his jaded outlook, well, it all depends on what he's used to on Korriban, no? Hopefully I address his seeming shyness in this chapter. Gimme another review and let me know. :D And that grammar mistake is where?

Trunxluvr82190: Glad you enjoyed. :) And just how many women has Dustil met in his life, really? In a romantic way, that is. And it's also hard to be bold when she's being guarded by people toting repeating blasters and wearing armor. Having the business end of a blaster shoved up your nose is not the best way to give a good impression. :)

VMorticia: Thanks! Sorry you couldn't get your pen name changed. And Dustil's still a pain in the butt to write. My other chapters just snap out from my pen, but Dustil's a doozy.

arrowmaker: Thanks. :)

Emeraldstargazer: Thank you for your kind words. Dustil's an angry young man, but I think he may be loosening up some. Getting him to think, anyway. It's a fine line between making Dustil realistic, for people to sympathize with him, and making him too whiny and selfish. While he did make me want to slap him in the game, he's got legitimate reasons for his behavior. :(

Ceridan: Thanks. :) Yeah, that whole 'I'm _Revan_?' thing hit me like a ton of bricks.

Gear152: Thanks! I'm so glad I was able to portray Dustil convincingly. I use the flashbacks to show Revan's personality, in the main, the whole 'Show, Don't Tell' philosophy. I could _say_ Revan's a reckless, funny character with an eccentric personality, but that's not nearly as fun, right?

sammie teufel: Thanks!

Firera: Yeah, he's been hit pretty badly. And he'll be hit more badly later. Stay tuned!

Feza: Thank you!

Prisoner 24601: The whole point is that Dustil's not supposed to be in my fic to the extent that he takes center stage! :p He was supposed to have been left back on Coruscant in Jolee's care! Somehow or another, he wormed his way in, the little... Oh, well. My fault for calling my fic "Coming to Terms" and nothing can really come to terms if it doesn't include such a big part of Carth's life. And I'm glad I'm not the only one who has trouble writing characters. :)


	32. Bazaar

**Chapter 32: Bazaar**

The Bazaar was quite a lively place for companies that were supposed to be conducting business negotiations in what Carth would've thought to be a dry and boring manner.

What they got instead, when they entered through the special entrance, was a riotous explosion of sound and color, as every company and House tried to drown out its competitors with their own advertising. His eyes were assaulted by blinking holosigns and colorfully-decorated yet scantily-clad dancers. His ears were battered with product slogans, the babbling of thousands of voices and pulsing music that sent vibrations up his boots to resonate in his bones. His nose was hit with strange and exotic smells, ranging from food to perfumes, all of it clashing in the air, and not always pleasantly.

The buildings on either side of the boulevard they were walking on sprouted kiosks and advertising displays like a bizarre profusion of flowers. Nothing so gauche as hawkers were present, but vidscreens and holo projectors flashed their jingles and messages, each trying to outdo their neighbors, vying for the attention of the crowd. Space was efficiently portioned out; ground spaces were always the best spots, but kiosks also dotted the sides of the buildings, and interested visitors or buyers were ferried up on repulsorlift platforms. Carth had to admit it was a creative way of making more space available, but he had to watch for trouble not only on the ground, but in the air, too.

It was a security nightmare, as he tried to keep track of everything and everyone, his eyes darting at every suspicious movement in the shuffling tide of sentients. At least he moved in a little space of his own in the crowd, as people blanched and scrambled out of his way when they saw him bearing down on them. He didn't think he looked _that_ scary, but it meant he didn't have to shove his way through like an eel.

Revan looked like she was enjoying every minute of it, frankly staring all around, as goggle-eyed as Dustil. No, not just staring around like a tourist, he saw; she weighed each person nearby as a potential threat. Of course, her Jedi senses gave her an edge he didn't have.

None of them were openly armed, but he wore blasters again, which felt strange after all the months of toting around swords. The lack of the familiar weights on his back and waist made him feel a little off balance. At least a practice session with Revan's spy-eyes had revealed his sharpshooting skills hadn't suffered much deterioration. Revan didn't carry her vibroblades or her slugthrower, but her lightsabers were concealed in her hip pockets. Dustil carried his own blasters as usual, but he had also left his sword behind.

Carth looked around, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the visual and aural cacophony, the sights and smells battering his senses. He wasn't exactly used to moving around in an event that was so full of an exuberant festival air combined with determined and blatant commercialism. They'd only wandered aimlessly around for a couple of hours, and he was already hankering for the peace and quiet of their hotel suite. And there were still acres of Houses they hadn't yet seen; they were still on the mere outskirts of the Bazaar.

He hoped there were some quiet corners somewhere around where they could take a break. At least Dustil was getting some valuable experience and education out of this trip. And possibly even more, if what Revan had told him about Lady Versenne was accurate, and he had no reason to doubt her analysis.

Carth looked back at Dustil, who was trying very hard to take in the sights like a sophisticated spacer, and not quite succeeding. He stared, wide-eyed, dazzled by the displays and entertainers the Houses employed to attract buyers.

This was what he _should've_ been doing, taking his son out to see the world, instead of going off to war. He felt a sudden bitterness seep into his heart at all the lost opportunities. And that was no fault of anyone's but his own. He stopped himself from stepping onto that well-worn track. Dustil was here, he wasn't angry with him or throwing his own bitterness into his father's face, and his son seemed to be genuinely enjoying his company. He shouldn't let the past taint his enjoyment of the present.

The times he'd spent, staring at holos of his wife and Dustil during the wars, wondering if holos would be the last he'd ever see of them if he happened to die in battle. How he'd dreamed of taking Dustil out for trips in the Telosian wilderness, to see all the wonders that were hidden like jewels there. Sometimes his need for them had been so strong and overwhelming, he'd sit up watching the holos instead of sleeping on his rest shifts. He'd lost that chance with his wife, but this second chance with Dustil, all unlooked for, was something he was going to hold to with a durasteel grip.

Dustil turned his eyes away from a fire-breathing Twi'lek to catch his eye. Dustil grinned, and for the first time since they'd met on Korriban, Carth saw that it wasn't wary or guarded, without the usual bitter edge to it. He smiled involuntarily in response and unconsciously clapped a hand to his son's shoulder. He blinked and almost took his hand away when he realized what he'd just done, thinking his son wouldn't appreciate the affectionate gesture, when he felt Dustil's hand on his own shoulder.

His breath came short and his eyes prickled, while his heart swelled fit to burst his chest at Dustil's impulsive show of acceptance. He looked away so that Dustil wouldn't see his face as he tried to regain his composure. Inside, he was jumping for joy, giddily elated at this simple sign that his son's attitude towards him was changing.

He told himself firmly that leaping about and laughing like a madman would alarm his son and probably the crowd, too. He felt his other hand being squeezed in a cool grip. He looked down to see Revan smiling happily up at him. He returned her a wide, helpless grin.

All of a sudden, Sith assassins and his worries for the future receded into the distance from his mind. He felt incredibly content and mellow with the world, because he still felt his son's hand on his shoulder. _I can't remember feeling this happy. I have my son back, I have Dustil back!_ The happy thought blipped through his mind like little effervescent bubbles.

Revan tapped him on the arm, bringing him out of his happy reverie, and pointed at an open-air café located on the third story of a nearby tower. Patrons thronged the tables; the café was clearly doing a brisk business, being located at such a busy intersection. He found himself dying for something to drink. If he was lucky, the café might even be equipped with sound dampeners, which would make it a veritable paradise, even if they couldn't find seats.

He turned to Dustil, who looked tired and overheated but excited, to judge from his bright eyes. He squeezed his son's shoulder to get his attention, and jerked his chin at the café. Dustil nodded in vigorous agreement, licking his lips in anticipation. Carth grinned and made his way to the repulsorlift platform.

As expected, there was a long waiting line for tables, but the server filled their orders with practiced dispatch, sparing only a wary glance at Carth's disguise, no doubt quite experienced with the greatly-increased custom at this event. They made their slow way through the crowded tables to the wall, where they could look out the window at the Bazaar below.

Carth leaned against the small counter, gulping down his iced caffa with relish, and looked alertly around the café. It was small, dimly-lit, crowded, and equipped, to his delight, with sound dampeners. He reveled in the quiet, the dampened noise soothing on his ears after the ruckus of the Bazaar, and he could speak without resorting to hand gestures. It was also filled with the pleasant scents of baking bread and pastries, spiced with the aromatic smell of brewing caffa.

Revan leaned against him, sipping contently on her fruit juice, perched on a tall stool he had chivalrously yielded to her. Dustil heaved a satisfied sigh, enthusiastically draining his glass of iced tea and starting another. Carth tugged at his collar; as usual, he wore his clothes and jacket over his heavy exoskeleton. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but it was definitely too warm, especially in the close confines of the café.

"I had no idea things were so crazy at the Bazaar. I thought it was all just, I don't know, quiet conferences between bureaucrats and managers, not," Dustil waved at the spectacle outside the window, "_this_."

"It probably does happen that way behind the scenes," Revan observed. "The serious stuff all takes place in offices, where contracts are written up and signed. I'm guessing this is all for impressing tourists, offworld companies and entrepeneurs. Besides, I hardly think the Houses could pass up the chance to compete with each other to see who can put on the best display. It's a planet-wide game of One-Up."

"Do you think we've seen enough for the day?" Carth asked.

"Bored already, flyboy?" Revan smiled, looking over her shoulder at him.

"Well, when you've seen one acrobatic dancer dressed in nothing much, you've seen them all." Carth idly shook his empty glass, rattling the ice cubes.

"But we haven't seen the really big Houses yet, Father," Dustil pointed out.

Carth raised an eyebrow at his son. "And there wouldn't be a particular House you'd be interested in seeing, would you?" He allowed a small smile to quirk his lips.

"No!" Dustil said, too quickly. "Uh, not really. I, uh, just thought the larger Houses might have more interesting displays, that's all."

_Nice save_, Carth thought, amused. Revan was hiding a smirk with her glass. "I don't suppose there's a faster way to get there, then?"

"The bigger and more prestigious Houses have their kiosks near the center," Revan supplied. "We could try to catch an autocab there."

"And what're the chances of us being able to catch one?" Carth asked dubiously. "I guess we could keep walking in the right direction," he mused grumpily.

"Aw, come on, Carth. At least nobody's tried to kill us once!" Revan said, by way of encouragement. She turned to Dustil. "Soldiers are such a grumpy lot. If it's not hot, it's too cold. If it's not rainy, it's too sunny. If it's not exciting, it's too boring." Dustil grinned.

Carth drew himself up. "I am _not_ grumpy. I've walked through two Dune Seas, in heavy armor, with you and a homicidal droid. If I can survive _that_, I can survive _this_. Besides, boring is good. I'm very fond of boring. I'm especially fond of the boring part where nobody tries to stab or blast us."

"No arguments from me," Revan said cheerfully.

Carth looked up at a movement in the café doorway, then relaxed when he saw it was just another House retainer, a Twi'lek, ducking in for a quiet smoke or a drink, away from the hectic crowds. He'd watched several of them, each wearing different styles and colors of uniforms, sneak in furtively for a short break.

His interest was piqued when he saw that it was a House Vosaryk uniform the Twi'lek wore. He nudged Revan and Dustil, bringing the approaching retainer to their attention. Dustil, he noticed, was looking especially hopeful.

The Twi'lek made no move to join them or speak to them, though. Instead, he went to the counter and ordered a drink, speaking amiably to the server while she prepared his order, before paying and then briskly departing, just like the other House retainers Carth had watched. Dustil's face fell, disappointed. Carth relaxed again, while Revan shrugged.

Carth's eye fell on a waitress making her way expertly through the crowded tables towards them. He thought she was moving on towards the serving counter, but to his mild surprise, she stopped in front of them.

"Boss says this is yours, compliments of the house," the waitress said to Revan, eyeing Carth cautiously. She looked poised to run if he even looked menacingly at her. He tried his best to look unthreatening. He'd already learned that smiling in his current disguise made people nervous. The waitress plunked down the tray, set out an iced caffa, iced tea and a glass of fruit juice. And a datapad. Then she hugged the tray to her chest, her arms crossed over it as if she were holding a shield. She wasn't too scared to wait for a tip, Carth saw.

Revan's lips quirked, stifling a laugh at the poor waitress' reaction to him. "He's just an old softy, really," she said reassuringly, and winked. Carth snorted and rolled his eyes. The waitress didn't look convinced. Revan tossed her a credit chit, which largesse made her grin broadly in gratitude, before she whirled and dived back into the crowd of patrons.

Carth raised his eyebrows at the rapidly-departing waitress, then down at the datapad. Revan snatched it up before Dustil could get his hands on it. Thwarted, Dustil attempted to regain his composure by looking out the window at the crowds below, feigning indifference to the pad's contents.

Revan nudged Carth with a conspiratorial grin. Carth smirked. "What's it say, beautiful?" he asked curiously.

Revan held up the pad, showing that it had the House Vosaryk logo on the screen.

Dustil immediately abandoned all pretense of disinterest. "What does it say?" Dustil asked, trying to restrain his eagerness, and not quite succeeding.

"Hm, Lady Versenne wishes to see us. She says there's a speeder that will take us to the House Vosaryk kiosk, awaiting our pleasure," Revan replied as she skimmed through the text. Carth peered at the screen. There were directions to an address located just a few blocks from the café.

Carth frowned suspiciously. "How'd they know where to find us? And why not just tell us the message instead of having a waitress passing a datapad to us?" His frown deepened. "This smells fishy."

"Are you saying we shouldn't go?" Revan asked.

"What does she want to see us for?" Dustil interrupted.

"It doesn't say, really," Revan answered. "Just that she has a business proposition for us."

Carth scratched his chin. "I didn't say we shouldn't go. Just that this seems a bit shady to me." He eyed Dustil, gauging his son's reaction to his words. Dustil looked... excited and hopeful. "I still want to know how they found us."

Revan shrugged. "House Vosaryk is more than wealthy enough to employ spotters at all the major intersections, with communicators and holos of our faces. And maybe he passed the datapad to us like this because he doesn't want people to see a House retainer talking to us. Spies, do you see."

Carth made a face. "I hate cloak and dagger stuff."

"Ah, well, you're a soldier, which means you like things straightforward, with about as much subtlety as a rancor in heat," Revan teased. She slipped the pad into one of the many pockets of her vest.

Carth wrinkled his nose. "That's a disgusting image, beautiful. I can't help it if I like things to be clear. Less complications that way."

Dustil interrupted their banter impatiently. "So are we going, or not?"

Carth stifled his grin, then sobered. "It could be a trap."

"A possibility, though I think it's a remote one," Revan said.

Dustil looked a little outraged at his father's suggestion. "Why would she want to trap us? What possible reason could she have?"

Carth shrugged. "Maybe not Lady Versenne herself, but her kidnappers can't be too happy with us. And her House has enemies who also can't be overjoyed that we helped her.

"But nobody knows who we are, except for her House staff," Dustil said. "And even then, they don't know who we _really_ are."

"Spies, son. Revan took care of the cameras, but who knows how many people watched us go after the girl? There might've been an observer tracking the kidnappers' progress, for all we know," Carth said in a low voice.

Dustil eyed him skeptically. "Are you always this suspicious, Father?"

Revan--_sniggered_--was the only word Carth could use to describe her stifled mirth. Carth's mouth quirked. "You're not the first to say that, son, and you wouldn't be the last."

"In other words, yes, Dustil, he really _is_ always this suspicious," Revan interjected with a grin. Carth mock-glowered at her.

Carth stopped Dustil from reaching for the drinks the waitress had put down on the counter. Dustil shot him a baffled look. "If they could be bribed to bring us a datapad, they could be bribed to put something in the drinks." Dustil rolled his eyes but left the drinks alone. Revan gave Dustil a _See, what did I tell you_ look.

Revan waved the datapad at Carth. "In any case, we should go. It wouldn't be in keeping with our disguises if we didn't go. A smuggler would leap at the chance to be employed by such a wealthy House, so it might look suspicious if we didn't take her invitation."

"But what if it's a trap?" Carth asked worriedly. He desperately missed the weight of his swords all of a sudden.

"Carth, I think we can handle it," Revan said dryly. She tapped her hip pocket meaningfully, where one of her lightsabers were hidden.

Carth sighed. "Fine, fine. Let's go, then," he said resignedly. He rubbed the grip of one blaster with a thumb absently. He carried Saul's Sith assassin pistol; a bit of cosmic irony there, he was sure. Dustil looked happy with his agreement, at least.

He wanted to tease Dustil about his interest in Lady Versenne, but he still didn't know the limits of what he could and could not say. He had to keep dancing around topics gingerly with his son, careful not to touch any sensitive nerves. Well, he never thought it would be easy. He could only hope that one day, his son would let his barriers down, and let his father back into his heart. That things would be as they should be, between a father and his son. At least Dustil was speaking to him civilly, and what happened earlier today was promising.

He wished it didn't have to be such an effort, but then, it was _his_ fault he'd neglected Dustil all those years he was away at war. That was nobody's fault but his. He would do his damned best to make it up to Dustil.

Carth left the café reluctantly, Revan and Dustil following behind him. Once past the dampeners, the noise rolled back over him, leaving him flinching from the assault on his ears after the dim quietness of the café. He resolved to buy earplugs if they were going to explore the Bazaar for any longer length of time.

A bit of wriggling through the crowds landed them four blocks at the address they'd been given. Carth looked around for the promised speeder, but he didn't see any on the street, until he looked up. He jerked his chin up at the landing platform halfway up the building, pointing it out to Revan and Dustil. He headed for the repulsorlift platform, scanning the crowd all the while, watching for trouble.

But nothing materialized; no desperate, mad assassins came out blasting, so he stepped onto the lift. At the top, he found a row of parked speeders in the garage, before spotting an Aqualish lounging on the side of an air speeder. He had the bored air of someone who had snuck off for a quiet smoke, an attitude common to lazy subordinates the galaxy over. The Aqualish straightened up at their appearance and approached them, flashing them a badge with the House Vosaryk sigil in his palm.

Carth eyed him warily, one hand on his belt; it just happened to rest near a blaster. The Aqualish eyed him with mutual caution. Revan held up the datapad, with the House Vosaryk logo clearly displayed. The Aqualish's face cleared on seeing the pad, and perhaps someone who didn't look like a wanted criminal. Carth kept himself from smirking.

"Please be seated, gentlemen, lady," the Aqualish said, taking the datapad and pointing at the speeder he'd been lounging on. Carth looked at the speeder, then back at the Aqualish, giving the Aqualish his best if-you-give-us-any-trouble-I'll-kill-you look, an expression he'd picked up from Canderous. The Aqualish paled and smiled wanly, and tried to look harmless, holding up empty hands. Carth sniffed, then tapped a finger pointedly on the grip of a blaster, before sliding into the backseat. Revan followed to sit next to him, then Dustil on the outside.

Carth inspected the speeder. It was... nothing out of the ordinary. A standard air speeder model, nondescript, with signs of use and dirt that said it wasn't new. Nothing suggested that it was owned by a wealthy House. The seats were a bit worn, and rubbed rather thin in places. He wouldn't have given it a passing glance if he saw it in the street. No doubt that was the reason why it was selected to pick them up.

The Aqualish slipped into the driver's seat and started up the engines. From the very quiet engine noise, Carth thought its insides didn't match the shabbiness of its outsides. He cocked his head, listening. Probably a souped-up engine, capable of much better speeds than its standard appearance would indicate. The Aqualish eased them out of the garage, along the platform, making its way up above the crowds of the Bazaar.

Carth leaned back in a deceptively relaxed pose, and hoped they weren't flying right into a trap. Revan, he saw, was the very picture of relaxed ease; her eyes were closed and her head was tilted back so that the wind blew her hair like a streaming banner behind her, the beads in it clacking merrily. Dustil fidgeted in nervous excitement, his fingers alternating from plucking at the vest he wore to running them through his hair.

Carth's thoughts turned to what the Heiress of House Vosaryk could want with them. He was sure it wasn't just to see his son again, though Dustil might wish it were so. He covered his mouth with his hand, to hide his smile.

Well, they would find out soon enough.

* * *

arrow maker: Thank you, glad you're enjoying the story. Dustil's story is tragically short in the game, true, but it doesn't really have much relevance to the plot of KoTOR, after all.

sammie teufel: _Will_ House Vosaryk figure it out? Stay tuned! Same Knight time, same Knight channel! :)

Firera: Yeah, Dustil's an angry teen. But he's getting better, I think. As for the whole in-law thing... well, we'll see. ;)

icey cold: Wow, thanks for your very kind words! Hm, OFI and Republic Intelligence being convenient dressing? Hm. ;) No, you can't steal my muse, I've got her quite tied up in the closet... Nasi isn't as, um, obvious as you think, especially if you pronounce it with a long 'a'. :) As for a romance for Dustil... we shall see. I do hope Dustil is changing in believable ways. And Revan does worry overly much about her past, but the angst is, shall we say, in manageable chunks. I'm glad you think my Revan's fun. :)


	33. Proposition

**Chapter 33: Proposition**

The air speeder, to Carth's surprise, did not head for the tube connecting the Transients Dome to the Sluissi capital city habitat, but instead in towards the center of the Bazaar, before he remembered the message had said that they were to meet Lady Versenne at the House Vosaryk kiosk. Keeping one eye on the driver, he looked out at the colorful carpet of the crowds and kiosks thronging the Bazaar. They were headed for a cluster of buildings that rose up like dark trees from a meadow full of bright flowers.

Their speeder joined with a stream of traffic above the cluster, their driver inserting them into the flow easily. Carth examined the other speeders as they passed. Most of them bore House logos of some sort, and were easily distinguished by their colors. He shifted uneasily when he saw that some of them were armed and armored, but none of them paid any attention to the dilapidated speeder that went by.

The driver brought them down to a squat building that looked rather ancient; its sides were carved with decorations, variations on the House Vosaryk sigil. They passed entire swarms of speeders that came and went, launching from multiple platforms dotting one face of the building.

Carth leaned forward and looked over the driver's shoulder. They were passing some invisible checkpoints, and the Aqualish sent his ID several times when he was challenged. Carth leaned back. It looked like the House's security force was still riled up from the kidnapping attempt on Lady Versenne, given the high-alert readiness he was seeing. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. It was unlikely that any further attempt would be made. Of course, the guards needed to prove they could handle anything. _Nothing like an actual breach of security to really boot everyone off their asses_, Carth thought with grim amusement.

The driver maneuvered the speeder down towards a parking platform, where Carth saw a familiar rotund figure waiting. He was not surprised to see Bekim flanked by two blaster-armed guards. Carth relaxed slightly; at least the invitation looked to be the real thing. Carth slid out of the speeder, helping Revan off, and stepped aside to make room for Dustil.

Bekim wasn't smiling this time. It wasn't apparent on his face, but Carth thought he detected some sort of disapproval in his demeanor. But it was clear Bekim wasn't going to let his personal feelings get in the way of good manners, because he bowed deeply to Revan.

"Lady, gentlemen, it is a pleasure to see you again," Bekim said as he straightened back up. "Lady Versenne will be pleased you accepted her invitation so promptly."

"What's this all about?" Revan asked curiously.

Bekim shook his head. "It would be best if Lady Versenne explained it to you herself." He beckoned for them to follow him.

Carth relaxed some more. It didn't look like it was a trap after all. The two guards fell in behind them, as Carth, Revan and Dustil followed the portly servitor. Carth's mouth tightened. He _hated_ having armed guards behind his back. It reminded him too much of the time they'd been captured by Saul, and he kept expecting to be pistol-whipped at any moment.

Fortunately for Carth's nerves, it was a short trip. The garage fell behind him, and Carth found himself once again in a plush-lined, dimly-lit corridor, with statuary gracing niches and artwork adorning the carved wood-paneled walls. His boot heels stopped clicking loudly on permacrete, to be muffled by the thick carpet, and his nose was filled with the faint scents of aged wax and varnish.

The guards peeled off and flanked a doorway, joining two of their fellows already there, while Bekim breezed right through after pressing his palm briefly on a panel next to the door. They stepped into an office that was small and spartan compared to the corridor and what Carth had seen of the House Vosaryk tower. The only furniture were three comfortable-looking cushion chairs and a large desk. The window took up the entire back wall, giving the room's occupants a wonderful view of the colorful vista of the Bazaar. No statuary took up the limited space, and only a few pieces of holo art decorated the three walls.

Lady Versenne sat behind a large desk carved of some richly-polished dark wood, and she rose on seeing them enter. Carth noticed Dustil's face light up on seeing Lady Versenne. Behind Lady Versenne, a large man in uniform tensed on seeing that they were armed, and clearly unhappy at the fact, though he said nothing. The man's face was mottled with healing bruises, and his uniform bulged in places that were probably bandages.

Lady Versenne walked out from behind her desk to stand in front of them. She bowed deeply, her gold-pierced robes falling in heavy, elegant ripples. Her platinum hair fell down, hiding her face. "Welcome to House Vosaryk," she said formally. "Honor and duty demands that I thank you for saving my life." She straightened back up and smiled.

Revan made a deliberately awkward bow to Lady Versenne, since she was supposed to be a smuggler unused to greeting wealthy aristocrats. "No thanks is necessary, Lady Versenne. Permit me to introduce myself; I am Nami Kera'al, and this is Nasi," she said, pointing to Carth. "Stiller I believe you already know," Revan continued, a dry note entering her voice.

"Yes, I do," Lady Versenne said, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. She nodded politely at Carth, only a flicker in her eyes betraying her apprehensiveness of him, and smiled at Dustil. Dustil ducked his head in a sort of bow, and smiled shyly back.

Carth glanced at the woman, then at his son, noting the interesting byplay. He studied Lady Versenne. She seemed to have recovered completely from her ordeal, he was glad to see. Up close, without pain and bruises marring her face, she looked rather young; he estimated she was only in her early twenties. A young age to have to shoulder the responsibilities of a business empire as her father's right hand... But then one had to consider what his son had been doing for the last four years...

Carth tried to imagine Lady Versenne as a potential daughter-in-law. She was easy enough on the eyes, and seemed a polite, well-mannered young woman... But that was hardly enough to go on for determining if she was suitable for his son.

Morgana_ would know how to find out... She'd probably invite her to tea or something, and afterwards they'd act like they've known each other for years._ He shook his head mentally, trying to dispel the wave of sadness that passed over him at the thought. _If the Jedi are to be believed, with their 'there is no death, there is the Force' philosophy, Morgana knows all about this._

Lady Versenne shook herself, then waved a hand at the three chairs in front of her desk. "Please be seated." Her bodyguard loomed over her chair like a pillar, watching them alertly. Bekim waited at her other side after leaving a tray of drinks on the desk. She took her own seat behind her desk and waited for them all to sit before speaking. "I thank you for answering my invitation so promptly, Captain. I hope you are enjoying the sights of the Bazaar," Lady Versenne began.

"It's interesting, certainly," Revan replied politely. "I can't remember seeing such a spectacle."

_And_ that's _entirely true_, Carth thought.

"May I ask what this is all about, Lady? The means you used to contact us seem to be more in keeping with how we operate in our line of, ah, work." She arched an eyebrow, inviting Lady Versenne to explain.

Lady Versenne smiled. "It is refreshing to encounter someone who moves straight to the point without my having to use flowery circumlocutions and diplomatic make-talk." Her face grew somber. "I wish to hire your services."

Revan's brows flew up. "House Vosaryk wishes some bit of cargo to be shipped through, ah, non-standard channels?"

Lady Versenne shook her head. "No. But I think you and your companions have skills I desperately need."

"And why would you need us when you have so many capable retainers of your own?" Revan asked, leaning back in her chair.

Lady Versenne paused a moment. "Because I'm not sure I can trust them," she said slowly. Bekim and the bodyguard looked pained for a moment, before they regained control of their faces.

Revan's brows rose again, and so did Carth's own. "Your retainers are sworn to the House, no? Aren't they bound to obey you?"

"They are bound to obey the House, in the person of my father, the Head of the House. I am merely the heir, not yet given the position," Lady Versenne corrected. "And it is not a position I am eager to have," she added.

"And what does this have to do with us?" Revan asked bluntly.

Lady Versenne took a deep breath. "As I said, I wish to hire you. I need someone I can trust to investigate certain... dealings. You have already proved your abilities when you routed those men who attempted to kidnap me. I'm told they were all incapacitated quite expertly, yet still left alive, if barely." She paused to bestow an admiring look of approval on Revan, Carth and Dustil. "You are also offworlders, outsiders, with no stake in our politics, and no ties. You are also an unknown, and would not be recognized as our retainers."

Revan rubbed the side of her nose. "And why do you think you can trust us?" she asked reasonably.

Carth glanced at the bodyguard and at Bekim. The bodyguard was looking distinctly unhappy, and Bekim was trying to hide a deep frown of disapproval. They clearly didn't like where this conversation was going. Carth wasn't sure what to make of it, himself. They both looked extremely unhappy this conversation was taking place at all.

Lady Versenne steepled her fingers, propping her arms on the rests of her chair as she regarded Revan thoughtfully. "Because you acted--you risked your lives to save a complete stranger, whom you didn't even know was wealthy or anyone of consequence."

"That hardly establishes a trust," Revan objected gently. Carth wondered if it was his imagination, or did Revan shoot him a dry look when she said that?

"No, but it helps to build it, I think. And trust is in perilously short supply in my House, at the moment." Lady Versenne slid a datapad across the desk towards Revan. "I'm willing to pay generously for this possibly dangerous job."

Revan took the datapad and skimmed it; no expression crossed her face as she perused its contents. She showed it to Carth, whose lips involuntarily pursed in a silent whistle as he took in just how much Lady Versenne was willing to pay them. Dustil's jaw dropped when Revan showed the pad to him.

"This is a generous amount, certainly... but what are you trying to buy?" Revan asked, putting the pad back onto the desk.

Lady Versenne clasped her hands together on her desk and leaned forward on her arms. "I wish to buy investigators. Investigators I can trust. A very troubling event may take place in as little as a week, and I want to stop it from coming to pass. I _desperately_ want to stop it from happening. It would prove catastrophic to Sluis Van if it cannot be averted."

"You're being very vague," Revan observed dispassionately.

"You will be given full details if you undertake this assignment. I greatly fear that, without intervention, Sluis Van may be plunged into civil war," Lady Versenne said, her gaze growing intense as she watched Revan.

"Are you sure you're not putting it rather dramatically?" Revan asked. Carth saw that her attention had sharpened at Lady Versenne's words, though her pose was still relaxed, and not a muscle betrayed her.

"I wish I were, but that is the very danger we face. It involves _kersai_, vendetta," Lady Versenne replied earnestly.

To his surprise, Carth saw Revan's face pale. The amount of times he'd seen her do that could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Whatever this _kersai_ was, it was big. And serious. _Very_ serious. Dustil looked confused, and Carth had to admit he was, too.

"I see you know what _kersai_ entails," Lady Versenne observed gravely. "Will you undertake this?" Carth noticed her hands had clenched together hard enough for her knuckles to turn white.

Revan breathed in deeply through her nose, then exhaled loudly. "We must discuss this amongst ourselves first, Lady. It will land us neck-deep into Sluis Van House politics and infighting, so this decision cannot be made solely by myself," she said reservedly. Her face registered neutral sympathy, but underneath the dye, she was still pale.

Lady Versenne nodded, not looking surprised by Revan's noncommital answer, but also a little disappointed at the lack of a clear 'yes' or 'no'. "Very well. But I ask--I beg!--that you come to a decision quickly. This cannot be postponed too much later."

Revan nodded. "I understand the urgency, Lady Versenne. I will require at most only a few hours."

Lady Versenne inclined her head and waved a hand at Bekim. "The speeder will drop you off wherever you wish, and will wait upon your convenience. Give your answer to Kosta, the driver, whatever it may be." She rose and bowed again. It was a clear dismissal.

Revan, Carth and Dustil rose; Revan returned Lady Versenne's bow before following Bekim out. They walked back to the landing platform in silence, the two guards trailing them once more. Revan looked distracted, while Dustil seemed to jitter in place with the effort of keeping in his questions.

The same Aqualish who had driven them here was still there, lounging once more on the beat-up speeder. He straightened back up when he saw them arrive. Bekim murmured what Carth assumed were instructions to him, and the Aqualish nodded. Bekim bowed once more to Revan, before stepping back off the platform with the guards, watching the three of them shuffle into the backseat.

Revan leaned forward and gave the Aqualish the address to their hotel. The Aqualish nodded agreeably, and dropped into the driver's seat. Carth frowned, not sure she should have handed the location of where they were staying to him, but then he shrugged. They could just as easily search their records, since they'd had to leave their contact information with the shipyard so that they could be contacted if any problems arose.

The trip back to their hotel was conducted in silence, since none of them were willing to speak in the presence of the driver. Kosta dropped them off in the hotel garage, and told them he had instructions to wait there for their answer. He settled into his seat and took out a datapad, clearly prepared for a long wait.

Carth waited until they were inside their suite before speaking, breaking the silence. "Interesting development, huh? So, uh, what's this _kersai_ thing that's got you looking so pale, beautiful?"

Revan dropped onto the couch and rubbed her face with a hand. "_Kersai_ is the Sluis Van term for vendetta, or private war. It comes to about the same thing. _Kersai_ is an old, old tradition, and it has never been officially outlawed, though the legislators will kick themselves for not correcting that oversight if this feud isn't stopped."

Carth sat down next to her, while Dustil sat on a chair opposite them, listening attentively. "So why does Lady Versenne think this will lead to civil war? I mean, isn't the whole point of a vendetta is so it'll stay strictly between two people? Or two Houses, in this case?"

"It normally would be, except that since the last great incident of _kersai_, where two Houses were practically decimated right down to the children, the Houses of Sluis Van have since created alliances amongst themselves, binding each to the other." Revan held up her hands and interlaced her fingers to illustrate her explanation. "So if one House is declared in _kersai_, then its allies are also involved."

"And a big House like Vosaryk must have lots of allies," Carth mused.

"And the other House, whoever it is, must have lots of allies, too," Dustil put in.

"Right. So Lady Versenne wasn't exaggerating, you see," Revan concluded. "I don't think we really have a choice... or rather, _I_ don't." She looked at Carth, then at Dustil. "_I'm_ the Jedi, I'm duty bound and honor bound to stop this. The loss of life if this isn't stopped would be horrendous."

"I'm with you," Carth said firmly. "Whatever we have to do, I'm in." He gave her a stubborn look, daring her to stop him. Revan just smiled and kissed the back of his hand in thanks.

"We should help her," Dustil said. "Count me in."

Revan raised an eyebrow. "Politics is a messy business, Dustil, and infighting amongst the Houses of Sluis Van can get pretty nasty, as the kidnapping attempt on Lady Versenne should show. Are you sure you want to be involved? And it does mean a premature end to your holiday."

Dustil nodded firmly. "I'm sure." He glanced at Carth, his face set in such familiar lines of stubbornness, Carth blinked.

Revan leaned back, looking at Carth, then at Dustil, her face set in a neutral expression that gave away nothing. It was clear she wasn't going to interfere in this.

Carth chewed his lip. He was torn between wanting to protect Dustil from the possibly very real dangers of messing about in House politics and the potentially fatal fallout from helping Lady Versenne, and his soldier's practicality in letting Dustil learn from the wealth of experience this situation may prove to provide. If Dustil had been any other young rookie soldier, Carth wouldn't have hesitated to include him. Of course, this was his son he was talking about. He sighed, and nodded reluctantly.

Revan squeezed his hand. In reassurance or approval, he didn't know which. It was probably both. Dustil's mulish look eased, and something like a smile of gratified relief touched his son's lips.

Carth took in a deep breath and let it out in another sigh. "So what does this _kersai_ involve? Is it like some sort of declaration of war? Anything resembling rules of engagement?"

"The rules are highly formalized, just like in a ritual duel, or trial by combat. The, uh, aggressor House declares _kersai_ in a public gathering of all the Houses, called the Conclave of Houses. Then the House lists the grievances, and the date it officially starts. After that, the challenged House either acknowledges _kersai_, or declines the challenge, which would force it to pay some sort of monetary compensation. No House has ever declined the challenge, since if it did, it would lose all the respect it has, and that's tantamount to political and commercial suicide." Revan pursed her lips. "Granted, there have been only two instances of _kersai_ in the entire history of Sluis Van, and it's easy enough to see why."

"What exactly does _kersai_ entail? I mean, are people going to start fighting in the streets?" Dustil asked in puzzlement, his face registering alarm at that scenario.

"No. Doing _that_ would bring the Sluissi down on them like a ton of permacrete. I'm not really sure how they go about fighting each other; the historical archives don't go into it. Their methods are kept quite secret. I only know that nuclear weapons are prohibited, along with any other sort of area-effect weapon. No innocent bystanders can be harmed." Revan's brow furrowed. "While I don't know how it was done, I know what the results were. The last time it happened, two Houses had no one left above the age of ten."

That little tidbit left them all in a daunted silence. Carth stirred. "Well, you did say it was a nasty business." He scowled, his lip curled in disgusted dismay. "How could anyone take the risk and do that to their own _family_? They might as well hang 'please blast me' targets on all their kids and relatives!"

"Precisely why _kersai_ is never entered into for trivial reasons. And why, in the entire history of Sluis Van, there have been only two recorded incidents of _kersai_." Revan wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "The Houses try to backstab each other without tipping the scales into that extreme."

Carth's mouth twisted. "That's, that's barbaric! How could people live like that?" He shook his head. Of course, he'd lived with it for four years. Revenge and reprisal; he certainly knew something of that.

Revan didn't look any happier than he did. "It's not our right to tell people how to live. And it seems to have worked for them so far, Carth," Revan said, shrugging helplessly. "The stakes are high, gentlemen. So we're all decided, then? We help Lady Versenne?"

"Yes. It's the only way we can stop a war," Carth said grimly. Dustil nodded, a look of determination on his face.

Revan stood. "Let's go tell Lady Versenne the good news, then."

* * *

sammie teufel: Not sayin' nothin'... dum de dum...

Sera Terranova: Thanks. And hm, you do have a point there... And congratulations for being the 100th reviewer! :D

rimwalker: Thanks! I'm trying not to make it too easy for them; I mean, four years of resentment doesn't just go poof and go away.

Emeraldstargazer: Hey, I'm not bored of hearing your praise! :D And thank you for your very kind words. As for the romance... again, not sayin' nothin'. You'll just have to stay tuned. :)

arrow maker: You're being lazy again... but thanks. :)

Lunatic Pandora1: Those would work, but they look weird... Like Geordi LaForge from Star Trek: TNG. :p

snarkywench: Thanks! Yeah, Dustil's teenagehood has been kinda messed up; hopefully I portray that relatively well, along with his subsequent growth. Okay, and more Carth/Revan mush... I'll see what I can do. ;)

Prisoner 24601: Thank you! Carth does take responsibility for Dustil in the game, so I'm just building on that.

Feza: Thanks. :) Just because Carth has learned to trust again, doesn't mean he can just throw off the suspicious git act just like that after four years of living it. To paraphrase Samuel Vimes from Terry Pratchett's Discworld, "There are no support groups where you stand up and say 'Hi, I'm Sam, and I'm a suspicious bastard.'"

icey cold: "Fishy, fishy, fishy..." Indeed, you'll find the answer to your suspicions in this very chapter. :) Hah! I dunno, I think young Dustil would find baking cookies, burnt or otherwise, too girly. :D Mudpies, yes, cookies, no. :)

VMorticia: Yeah, I figured it was time for Revan to talk to Dustil about abuse of Force powers. Feel free to use the 'Selene as the Sith operative' idea, since I certainly have no plans to write a Dustil-centered fic. I find Carth's suspicions rather endearing, myself. Except when he's suspicious of Revan/the PC. :)


	34. Plans

**Chapter 34: Plans**

Carth, Dustil and Revan sat once more in front of Lady Versenne's desk in her office in the building housing the Vosaryk kiosk. Lady Versenne looked greatly relieved and overjoyed that they had accepted her proposal. Her bodyguard and Bekim looked resigned and still unhappy about that fact, though they did their best to hide their disapproval.

"So, which Houses are going to be declared in _kersai_?" Revan asked, leaning back in her seat in a deceptively relaxed pose.

They had just concluded negotiations for higher pay for this very dangerous mission. Dustil didn't look like he'd liked that, but it was in keeping with their personas. No self-respecting smuggler would have taken the initial offer, no matter how generous it was. Haggling was only to be expected, and it may have looked suspicious if Revan hadn't tried. It was a sign of Lady Versenne's desperation that she'd agreed to the higher pay without demur. Her bodyguard's and Bekim's faces had grown more and more sour with each rise in price, but they, too, said nothing.

Lady Versenne took a deep breath. "House Vosaryk and House Khyrohn."

Carth couldn't keep his jaw from dropping. He heard Dustil draw in a sharp breath. Only Revan looked unperturbed and unsurprised by the news. Well, no wonder Lady Versenne was desperate; it was her own House that was in danger!

"I can see why you're concerned, Lady," Revan remarked calmly. "Your own House in _kersai_... What was Lord Vosaryk's reason for it?"

"Ostensibly the recent kidnapping attempt upon me. He believes House Khyrohn sent those men, and was also responsible for my mother's death when her starship exploded." Lady Versenne's anxious face became tinged with sorrow.

Carth's jaw tightened. Things were looking worse and worse.

"And... _did_ House Khyrohn, in fact, do such a thing?" Revan asked delicately.

Lady Versenne paused for a moment before replying. "They may have. But they may not have. A dozen Houses could've been responsible, or none of them. It may have been a simple accident." She waved a hand. "But we digress. House Khyrohn's current Head is a very intelligent man, and only recently come to the position. He would not disrupt his House so by risking anything that may bring down _kersai_."

"How certain are you of that?" Revan asked.

"Our analysts report an eighty-percent probability that House Khyrohn would not have risked it. If the Head were a bit more secure in his position and a little more experienced, that probability would be lower, but he took the seat only a few months ago."

"So why is Lord Vosaryk so certain House Khyrohn is the culprit?" Revan asked, looking baffled. "Presumably he would have the same reports you have."

Lady Versenne paused again, expressions of sadness, indecision and shame flowing across her face like clouds in a high wind. "My father is... not exactly... unbiased towards House Khyrohn."

Revan simply raised her eyebrows politely in inquiry.

Lady Versenne sighed. "He blames House Khyrohn for the death of my mother, as I said. He says it was in retaliation for House Vosaryk's assassination of one of House Khyrohn's Heads."

Revan nodded dismayed understanding. "And... _did_ House Vosaryk arrange that?"

Lady Versenne held out her hands, palms up. "I know not. My father was not yet Head when that happened. For all I know, it is true. There were no signs of foul play at _that_ death, either."

Carth kept his face carefully blank, to hide his disgust at these ruthless tactics. He'd seen enough needless deaths in the wars. To think that people killed each other just to further their business interests turned his stomach. He must not have shown a convincingly neutral face, because Lady Versenne shot him a shrewd glance.

Lady Versenne opened her hands apologetically. "I do not approve of _kersai_. It is a deplorable waste of talent and life, but it is how we have lived for centuries. We are, perhaps, too deeply entrenched in tradition."

"So what would you have us do, Lady? Investigate House Khyrohn?" asked Revan, bringing the conversation back on track.

Lady Versenne nodded. "I need you to procure some form of incontrovertible proof of House Khyrohn's innocence. _Something_ I can present to my father, or failing that, to the Conclave of Houses, that would show House Khyrohn did not try to kidnap me. My father's entire case for declaring _kersai_ rests upon that. Take that away, and his argument folds upon itself."

"And how do you expect us to get this proof, assuming it exists? You must not have gotten anywhere with the kidnappers themselves," Revan commented.

Lady Versenne sighed and nodded ruefully. "No, they knew nothing. They were employed through intermediaries, and it would take months to unravel the chain, months we do not have. As for finding such proof," she shrugged helplessly, "I know not."

The bodyguard coughed softly. Lady Versenne turned her face up to his, one eyebrow arched in question. She waved her fingers slightly, _If you have something to say, say it_. She turned back to Revan. "This is Bospho, my Head of Security, and my personal bodyguard."

Bospho ducked his head at Revan respectfully, though still a touch sourly, and took out a datapad. "This contains all the information on House Khyrohn that we have in our archives, lady. I took the liberty of downloading it all when m'Lady told me of Lord Vosaryk's plans," he said, his voice rumbling out of his broad chest, a baritone so deep it seemed to be coming from the throat of a mountain. He stepped around the desk and handed it to Revan.

Carth eyed the bodyguard with wary respect. He'd seen the suspicious bulges of weapons, in addition to bandages, under his uniform tunic when Bospho had stretched out his arm towards Revan. Only when Bospho had returned to his place next to Lady Versenne did Carth crane his neck to look over Revan's shoulder at the pad. Dustil was doing the same on Revan's other side.

Revan's eyebrows flew up in surprise. "Floor plans and blueprints? How very... thorough," she said dryly.

Lady Versenne shrugged somewhat apologetically, as if trying to excuse her ancestors' thinking. "We know not if they are, in fact, accurate."

Revan didn't look pleased at that. Carth wasn't; he hated going into anything on such chancy and inadequate intelligence.

"I see. And since we'll probably have to do some breaking and entering, you won't question what methods we'll be using," Revan said, slipping the datapad into her vest.

Lady Versenne smiled. "Of course not. I leave the, ah, experts to their business. Although if you can accomplish this task with no loss of life, I would be most grateful and pleased."

"And... what happens if we get caught?" Revan asked.

Lady Versenne looked distressed and unhappy at the possibility. "I'm afraid we would have to disavow any knowledge of you. We cannot have House Khyrohn aware of our activities, not with my father so close to declaring _kersai_ on them. If you are caught, then we cannot help. We cannot even acknowledge you. Because you are outsiders, House Khyrohn will... likely kill you," Lady Versenne finished reluctantly.

This was just looking better and better, Carth thought glumly. He caught Revan's eye. She shrugged, _Those're the breaks_. Her eyes were beginning to sparkle with suppressed excitement. _I'm in love with a crazy woman_, Carth thought. _Which means I must be crazy, too._ He reluctantly bid a fond farewell to boredom.

"Ah, well. Those're the risks we take in our profession," Revan said cheerfully. "Is there anything else, Lady?"

Lady Versenne shook her head. She glanced at Dustil, then back at Revan, so quickly Carth thought he might've imagined it. "That is all. Save... please be careful." She beckoned to Bekim.

Carth thought she was saying that especially to Dustil. He rubbed his lips with a finger to hide a smile. Dustil's... infatuation might not be all one way.

Revan stood, and Carth and Dustil followed her lead. "Thank you, Lady," Revan said with a bow. Carth and Dustil also bowed awkwardly, before turning and following after Bekim.

* * *

Don't know if people have seen the link on my profile page, but I have posted fic cookies (excerpts from future chapters) at my guestbook. The URL can be found on the profile page (since I'm not allowed to put URL links directly into chapters, apparently...) As of this writing, I have five cookies there.

Ceridan: Yeah, what can I say, I have a demanding public. Crowd. Group. Okay, two or three people... I know _kersai_ isn't an original idea, but it seems to fit in with the highly-formal air of the nobility of Sluis Van (my own invention, the real Sluis Van is not at all like this, as far as I know).

Arrikazza: Welcome back! Thanks for the very kind words. :)

Feza: Ah, but do the other House retainers know about the arrangement, other than Lady Versenne's own closest advisors? As far as the other retainers know, she just invited them to give her own thanks and reward...

VMorticia: There's a difference between barbarism and civilized behavior that condones the concept of killing to get ahead... Glad you laughed at the bits in Ch. 32. And I did fix that heavy armor line, but can be so recalcitrant about updating. Maybe a clearing of the cache will help? Carth's disguise is pretty neat, ain't it? :D

arrow maker: Okay, you're only semi-lazy. :)

Lunatic Pandora1: Well, if they told the House who they really were, they'd just think it was a big joke. Remember, both are well disguised.

sammie teufel: I aim to please. ;)

icey cold: Ah, let's hope it doesn't come to bloodying their hands... Revan _could_ use a little Force persuasion, but after that speech she gave to Dustil about abusing it, she's going to have to be circumspect with that power... Yeah, the prospect of being hanged certainly concentrates the mind wonderfully. :)


	35. Possibilities

**Chapter 35: Possibilities**

The living room walls of Revan and Carth's hotel suite were now plastered with hard copies of House Khyrohn's blueprints and floor plans, while the holo projector displayed a three-dimensional map of House Khyrohn itself. It was also a tower, but one that was not as modern as House Vosaryk. The architecture indicated it was two centuries old, but the Heads of House Khyrohn had wisely invested in modern technology that made it proof against anything the latest in weapons could bring to bear.

Carth sat on the couch and chewed his lip as he tapped keys to enlarge and rotate the holo display, wondering where they could possibly tap into Khyrohn's security. There were no convenient windows for Revan to climb into, this time. The more prosperous Houses seemed to be very security conscious; considering what had happened to Lady Versenne, it was perhaps with good reason. He listened to Revan's boots clicking on the floor behind him, as she paced slowly from one side of the room to the other.

Dustil was busy at the computer looking for anything unusual Khyrohn might've purchased. Breaking into the Sluis Van commerce system had been one of the first things Revan had worked on once they'd returned from the Bazaar. When Carth had expressed his surprise at Revan's facility with breaking into the supposedly private records of all goods purchased on Sluis Van, she'd shrugged and said that looking was easy, but _changing_ records would be much harder.

Carth shook his head, unable to find any unguarded spots. It looked like the only way they could crack House Khyrohn would be to use the _Ebon Hawk_ to blast their way in, and that would hardly fit the bill for discreet and subtle tactics.

"No luck?" Revan asked behind him.

"No," Carth sighed, glancing up and behind at her. "The place is locked up tighter than a Hutt's wallet." He pointed at blue dots that represented Khyrohn guard patrols in the holo. "If this data Lady Versenne gave us is accurate, they have overlapping patrol schedules. Three-man teams, and they pass each other every fifteen minutes."

"I take it the electronic defenses are just as formidable?" Revan asked distantly as she stared at the holo.

"Uh-huh. Battle droids, cameras, automated blaster turrets... you'd think they were preparing for a war, or a siege!" Carth shook his head, disturbed by what he was seeing. All the signs pointed to a building tension on Sluis Van that threatened to explode at the least provocation, if Khyrohn was representative of the other Houses. He'd seen too many wars to want to see another engulf a place like Sluis Van. Not to mention the disruption of trade and shipbuilding that would ensue. The Republic couldn't afford to have one of its most staunch allies collapse in on itself of civil unrest. _No one_ won in wars like that.

Carth frowned, struck by a sudden suspicion. "You don't think the Sith could have agents here, could they? Stirring up trouble among the Houses, so that they'll turn on each other, like a pack of kath hounds fighting to see who'll be top dog?" he mused aloud.

Revan frowned. "I hadn't considered the possibility. From what Lady Versenne has told us, such plans would have to have been deeply-laid; taking such a long view is not exactly what the Sith are known for."

Carth glanced at Dustil, who was looking up at them from his console, his attention caught by their conversation. He smiled sheepishly when Carth caught him, and went back to scrolling through his lists. "They were willing enough to wait four years for Dustil to be corrupted and turned to serve the Sith," he said in a low, tight voice to Revan.

Revan squeezed his shoulder; he covered her hand with his, silently acknowledging her offer of comfort. "Four years is a relatively short time. The alleged assassination of House Khyrohn's Head took place nearly half a century ago, about a decade before the war of Exar Kun."

"And the _alleged_ assassination of Lady Versenne's mother was only _six_ years ago," Carth pointed out. "I don't know if my theory will pan out--"

"But it's something we should take under consideration," Revan finished. "This civil war would play right into the Sith's hands, certainly, except that it would happen just a tad too late to help them. Any Sith agents still on planet should have run by now, headed for their boltholes."

"Or maybe they're still here, only they're not working for the Sith anymore," Carth speculated. The parallels of Lord Vosaryk's vendetta to his own was starting to send chills up his spine. At least he'd never started a war over his revenge, but then again, could he really say he wouldn't have been willing? He could understand Lord Vosaryk's... frustration, if he thought the ones who murdered his wife had never been brought to justice, but going about it this way was damned selfish. And that, too, was something he understood.

Revan's lips twisted in distaste at these possible new complications. She tugged on his shoulder. "Come here, I think I might've found something."

Carth stood and followed her to one of the printouts. Revan didn't object when Dustil left his console and drifted over to them.

Revan pointed to the layout of a floor. "I don't believe this will be as well guarded as other places."

Carth's eyes went to the map label. "The _sewers_? Oh no, not _again_!" he groaned.

Dustil's eyebrows flew up in surprise at his cry. "'Again'?" Realization dawned. "Oh. The Tarisian sewers, right?"

Carth nodded, his nose wrinkling at the memory. "And I really hope there're no rakghouls or rancors in Sluis Van's."

"Probably not. At least, I've heard no such urban legends," Revan assured him. "But, well, sewers being sewers, they'll have plenty of all the stuff that make sewers what they are. Some things never change."

Dustil's own nose wrinkled at the image this conjured up. "Ew." He squared his shoulders. "But I'm still going to come with you," he said stalwartly.

Carth smiled at his son's determination. He looked back at Revan and sobered. "Do you think you'll need us for this? I have to admit I'd feel a lot better if I--we--came with you." He could see that Dustil was gratified he'd included him in their number. Hesitantly, Carth put a companionable hand on Dustil's shoulder, and was secretly immensely pleased Dustil didn't shrug it off.

"Well, I don't exactly know what I'll be up against, so I don't see why not. We'll no doubt have a better idea of the situation when we get there," Revan said with a shrug of her shoulders.

Dustil frowned at the map of the sewers under House Khyrohn. "Why do you think the sewers will be the best place to break into? I mean, they're rich enough to afford battle droids and blaster turrets, so...?"

"Well, the sewers are narrow, cramped and smelly. Not to mention dank and dark, so it's hardly the first choice for an invasion route, if anyone with a large force wanted to get into House Khyrohn that way. Also, since it's hardly a plum post for Khyrohn guards, they'll probably be paying less attention to anything that moves there. There can't be any lack of vermin making noise down there, so if we happen to have a clumsy moment, they'll hopefully pass it off," Revan explained.

"And the damp means they probably won't have any electronic sentries down there, or if there are, they won't be working too well in those wet conditions," Carth added.

Dustil nodded at their explanations thoughtfully. "So when do we go?"

"The sooner, the better. Lord Vosaryk may declare _kersai_ in as little as a week, so we have to get our hands on _something_ before then," Revan replied. She ran a hand regretfully through her beaded hair. "I'm going to have to take these out; they'll make too much noise."

Carth sighed a little in regret, too. Those beads had been fun to play with. "So we go tonight?" he asked.

Revan nodded. She turned to Dustil. "Did you find anything in the database?"

Dustil shook his head. "No. Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway. Just a lot of foodstuffs, linens, power cartridges and all the other million and one domestic things they need to keep a House running smoothly, I guess. If they're buying weapons to prepare for _kersai_, they're not using the House account for it."

Revan quirked her lips wryly. "I didn't think we'd find anything so easily. Too bad, though, we could've had a lucky break. It's not illegal to buy weapons on Sluis Van, after all." She paused a moment, deep in thought. "What about any sudden large purchases of weapons? Although if their procurement agents are smart, they wouldn't do any such glaringly-obvious thing; they'd buy in small, innocuous amounts."

Dustil rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I wish you'd told me sooner, so I wouldn't be cross-eyed from staring at all those lists. And no, I didn't see any big purchases of weapons like that. Just about a dozen or so each month of blaster pistols, rifles and repeaters, but since they also turned over their old weapons back to the manufacturer--for a price deduction, I guess--I didn't flag them."

Revan nodded. "I see. Well, nothing for it but to find more obvious and harder-to-acquire evidence."

Carth patted his son on the back sympathetically. "Somebody's got to do the legwork, son. Why don't you leave off and take a break? We're going in tonight, so you should rest up. It's been a long day."

Revan pressed a datapad on Dustil before he left for his suite. "Here, this has the map of the sewers. Memorize it before you take your nap. Oh, and put on your most worn-out, dark-colored clothes for the trip. You'll probably not want to keep them afterwards."

"Okay. See you later," Dustil said over his shoulder, before disappearing into his quarters.

Carth sat back down on the couch and gathered the stack of datapads, caffa mugs and printouts into a more orderly pile. "Hey, is it just my imagination, or is Dustil a little more, I don't know, loosened up?"

"Not your imagination, unless we're sharing a delusion," Revan said, sitting down and handing the dirty cups to JC-01.

"I've often thought we're sharing a dream, beautiful, not a delusion," Carth said, smiling. He snaked an arm around Revan's waist and pulled her close. "Do you think it's got anything to do with the girl?"

"Maybe. Perhaps he's too distracted to be, um..." Revan groped for words that wouldn't offend him.

"Sulking?" Carth suggested, to save her from finding more polite locutions.

Revan pressed her lips together in diplomatic disapproval. "I was going to say 'brooding'," she said primly, leaning forward and gathering a stack of datapads with much less regard for organization than he.

"Ah. I just thought he didn't seem as... I don't know, angry this morning when we were at the Bazaar." That bubble of joy at the realization was still lodged inside his heart, making him break out in smiles at odd moments.

"I'm glad." Revan smiled. "I'm very glad and happy for you."

Carth saw the relief in her face. It made him realize how much of a strain this trip had been on her, for her to watch her words and actions so carefully around Dustil. She'd been dancing just as gingerly and carefully around his son as much as he, if not more. Her nerves must be stretched to cracking.

Carth hugged her. "I don't think I could've done it without you, beautiful," he murmured into her ear.

"I did promise to help you, flyboy. Anything I could to help," Revan said, pulling back to cup his face in her cool hands.

Carth leaned his forehead on hers. "I owe you so much," he whispered. He wrapped both arms around her, hugging her tightly to him.

Revan curled her body into his and touched a finger to his lips to silence him. "When two people give each other everything, Carth, nothing is owed, and everything to be gained," she whispered to him, her breath puffing warmly against his face.

"I want to thank you anyway." Carth kissed her forehead and reluctantly disengaged from her embrace to go rummage in their armory to set out the gear they'd need for tonight's excursion, leaving Revan to clean up the debris from their planning session.

He hoped their little side trip would prove unexciting, with the only danger being boredom and the sewer stench.

Somehow, he thought that was unlikely.

* * *

Thanks again to all the people who reviewed so far!

Lunatic Pandora1: Indeed, but it's probably one of those things that are amusing only when it's long over. :)

Prisoner 24601: Glad you liked it. It's not a unique idea, alas, but I think it's something Revan would certainly be concerned about. But really, Revan can't really afford to turn up her nose at something like this... granted, she wouldn't turn up her nose at rescuing kittens from trees, either... Oh, and glad you liked the cookies, and somehow, I'm not surprised that _that_ particular cookie was your favorite so far. ;)

VMorticia: Eh, civilized. Eh. But glad you're enjoying. :)

Ceridan: The plot not only thickens, it's coagulating! Ew. Oh, you only _now_ just realized Revan is crazy? ;D Of course there's something hidden, I can't give it all away at once! Good stories, like good stripteases, are best done... slowly. ;) Here's hoping you find this chapter good. :)

sammie teufel: Thanks, and here it is!

arrow maker: Thanks!


	36. Infiltration

**Chapter 36: Infiltration**

The Sluis Van sewers were as dank, smelly, cramped and dark as promised, and they hadn't even set one foot down into them yet. Dustil wiped the condensation off his face with the back of his sleeve, scraping his cheek painfully on his gauntlet.

They stood in a sort of shed that housed maintenance droids, tools and equipment for the sanitation workers who serviced the sewers. Usually it was locked up at this time of night, but Revan had breezed through the simple electronic mechanism in a couple of seconds, with a little help from the Force.

They'd had to sneak through the unusually few back alleys in the Sluis Van capital city habitat, to hide the fact that they were armed to the teeth and packed enough equipment for a long battle. His father was armed with his favorite vibroblades and his blasters, while he himself was also armed with twin blasters, along with his own vibroblade.

Revan had elected to ditch her own vibroblades and slugthrower, judging them to be unnecessary for her disguise since the plan was that nobody should see them. She was armed 'only' with her lightsabers. All of them were dressed in dark-colored clothes, and everything had been strapped down and blackened to minimize noise and color.

Dustil adjusted the combat sensors more comfortably on his head. They sat a bit awkwardly on his ears, because he was wearing them over a light-scan visor. He checked the settings on the power cartridges of his blasters one last time, and took a deep breath of the stale, smelly air.

Revan knelt by the circular cover in the floor. She looked up at Carth and Dustil, raising her eyebrows. Dustil nodded his readiness at her, and so did Carth. She touched the button that opened the hatch, and it swished obediently open for her, revealing a ladder that descended into inky blackness.

Dustil gagged at the stench that rolled out, trying to keep his gorge down. His father scrunched his features in reaction, the false scars on his face seeming to crawl disconcertingly on his skin. Revan popped a piece of candy into her mouth and politely offered the package to Carth. Carth sniffed suspiciously at it, made a face and put it into his mouth with what looked to Dustil like grimly determined resignation. She offered it next to Dustil. Dustil took it with a nod of thanks. It was just a piece of candy, after all.

"Careful, son, it's--" Carth began in warning, but Dustil had already popped it into his mouth, "--rather strong," his father finished lamely.

Dustil nearly swallowed it down the wrong pipe as he gasped from the taste of the mint. It hit him and his sinuses with all the subtlety of an out-of-control speeder. His eyes watered. "I've been," he gasped, "poisoned!"

Revan grinned--cruelly, Dustil thought--and shrugged. "It's an acquired taste. It'll keep the sewage smell from overwhelming you."

"Because my nose has been blown away, right?" gasped Dustil. Carth favored him with a long-suffering and sympathetic smile.

"Picky, picky." Revan shook her head and grasped the ladder rails. She slid down into the darkness, not bothering with the slimy rungs.

Carth swept a hand at him, indicating that he should go next. His breathing more or less back to normal, Dustil followed Revan, peering down into the dark depths cautiously. He couldn't see more than a few feet down, and Revan was nowhere in sight. He took a steadying breath, to find that the mint of the candy overpowered anything he was smelling, and gripped the rails. He jumped off the platform and plunged down into the dark.

After a terrifying moment where he hung in the air, feeling nothing underneath him as he dropped into the unknown, Dustil landed hard on his feet, splashing as he staggered for balance. He moved away from the ladder so that his father wouldn't drop down onto him, and stared around through the red-tinted lens of his light-scan visor.

The ceiling was low, only a foot higher than his head, and the walls were made of permacrete, with pipes both large and small running all along the low ceiling. Condensation beaded on everything, and dripped steadily onto the water. He was standing in the middle of a wide channel, in ankle-deep running water. At least, Dustil hoped it was water. He decided to pretend that it was, because the alternative was too disgusting to contemplate.

Revan stood at the end of the tunnel, looking both ways alertly. He heard a distant clank, and what little light filtered down from the shed winked out. Carth must've started down and closed the hatch behind him. A moment later, his father landed, dropping down a little more gracefully onto his feet as he splashed next to Dustil.

Revan beckoned to them, and they followed, splashing noisily. Dustil stepped up onto one of the narrow, puddle-marked ledges that ran along both sides of the tunnel, hearing Carth doing the same behind him. If Dustil remembered correctly, they were a few turnings from the Khyrohn sewer complex. They could have dropped down somewhere closer, but Carth had advised against it, as Khyrohn might have patrols out in addition to guards protecting the sewer entrance.

Revan moved on ahead, taking point, since she could detect any sentients nearby with her Jedi senses. Carth stayed in the rear as they moved to join Revan, and Dustil felt a flicker of resentment that his father didn't seem to trust him to be able to watch their backs. He shook off the feeling. He _was_ the most inexperienced one here; it was only common sense to put him in the protected center. But he didn't have to like it. He moved ahead as quietly as he could, trying to keep his splashing to a minimum.

He strained his ears for the sounds of people moving around, but could only discern the steady _drip-drop-drip_ of condensation falling onto the floor, and the dull roar of rushing water in the distance. He reached out to the Force to augment his senses, using it like a barometer for danger, but the Force was quiescent and calm. He heard his father behind him moving surprisingly silently for a man wearing heavy armor and festooned with equipment. He couldn't hear Revan ahead at all, unless he listened very carefully; she was timing her footsteps with the falling drops of water, using them to mask the noise of her boots.

Dustil and Carth heard Revan curse softly. They followed her to the end of the tunnel, and encountered their first check of their mission. Revan eyed the bars that had been welded to the circular entrance with appalled dismay. "This wasn't in the blueprints!" she cried, aggrieved.

Carth scratched his head, propping his hand on his hip as he stared at the obstacle. "Any way around it?"

Revan shook her head. "No, this is the only way in to get to the section of the sewers House Khyrohn sits on." She added dubiously, "We could try going up to the surface and scout around for another entrance that opens up further down this tunnel." She chewed her lip in frustration. "I don't suppose anyone brought a laser cutter along?"

Carth stepped to her side and examined the bars where they met the wall. "You know, these don't look like they were welded on very neatly." He bent and looked closely at the bottom ends of the bars. "If you give me a little help with the Force, I might be able to take one or two out to make a hole just big enough for us all to squeeze through."

"Ah, I knew I kept you around for a reason, flyboy," Revan said with a smirk. She waved a hand imperiously at the barred opening. "For the crude muscular work."

"What, you mean it isn't for my boyish good looks?" Carth said, feigning shock, as he moved in front of the opening, and picked out the bars with the flimsiest weld spots.

"_What_ boyish good looks?" Revan said, grinning. Carth snorted.

"You think you can pry them out?" Dustil asked skeptically. Those bars looked pretty firmly welded to the wall to him. How Revan and Carth could banter at a time like this, he didn't know. _Or maybe they're just as nervous as I am._ The thought was... startling.

"I won't know until I try." Carth grabbed a bar, but his hands slipped on the condensation-slick metal. "Ugh," he muttered in disgust, wiping the sewer-slime off his hands onto his trousers. He tried again to get a firm grip on the bar. This time he was successful, holding a bar in a firm two-handed grip. He braced one foot against the wall for leverage. "Okay, on three. One, two, three!"

Carth began to pull on the bar, his face growing red with exertion, veins and sweat standing out on his brow. Dustil could hear the servos of his father's heavy exoskeleton whine in protest at the load. Revan stared at the bar with great intensity; Dustil could feel tendrils of the Force wrap around the bar. The bar started to deform and bend visibly, the metal shrieking and squealing at their handling. With an abrupt snap, the bar broke off. Carth staggered, the sudden release throwing him off balance. Dustil put a hand under Carth's elbow to steady him. Carth flashed him a grateful smile and laid the now-twisted bar aside.

Revan wiped sweat from her brow. "I think we'll need to do two more before you both can fit through." She took off her pack and squeezed through the opening.

"Don't you go anywhere without us," Carth said with a frown, puffing slightly from his labors. He wiped sweat off his face with the back of a hand.

"Like I'm going to argue with a guy who can bend steel bars, hey?" Revan said dryly.

"Yeah, well, one never does know with you," Carth muttered. He passed his pack and Dustil's to Revan through the opening, then he grabbed another bar.

They repeated the process twice more until the opening was big enough to accommodate Carth and Dustil. Dustil managed to squeeze through without too much trouble, but Carth had to take the swords off his back before he could fit.

Dustil helped his father buckle his blades back on. "I wouldn't want to wrestle with you, Father." He was greatly impressed and a little awed at his father's strength.

"Heh, well, anybody can bend steel bars into pretzels wearing the armor and gauntlets I've got on," Carth said dismissively. He rolled his shoulders to settle his swords and pack back on more comfortably. "Come on, son."

Dustil shouldered his own pack on and followed. Revan had already gone on ahead of them, scouting out the path cautiously, flitting from shadowed nooks to dark corners like a shadow herself. Dustil felt as clumsy and conspicuous as a pink polka-dotted bantha as he moved as steathily as he could--which didn't seem very much--with Carth following behind him.

Dustil stopped abruptly when Revan flung up her hand in a _Stop, hold your position_ signal. He froze, hands spasming nervously on the butts of his blasters. He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers before returning them hastily to his guns. Carth had stopped behind him and to the side, preparing to move to a crossfire position, his hands on his own blasters.

He and his father ducked into a niche when Revan flashed them the _Take cover_ gesture, before oozing silently into a corner herself, becoming just another piece of the darkness in the dimly-lit tunnel.

Dustil breathed as quietly as he could, trying not to choke on the noxious sewer stench. He could feel Carth tensing next to him, and he heard the very quiet creaks of his father's clothes and pack as they settled.

Then Dustil heard the sound of metallic footsteps clanking on permacrete in the distance, approaching them. It sounded like a droid. He could see a faint, very faint shadow on the wall, coming closer. Just before it turned into their tunnel, he saw a flash of lightning hit the droid, the sudden glare of light leaving afterimages in his vision. Instead of destroying it completely and making it explode into flaming metal chunks, it just stopped the droid in its tracks, one foot raised in the air. He wondered what Revan was up to. He heard Carth mutter under his breath.

Revan emerged from her corner and beckoned to them again, so he and Carth walked over cautiously. Revan's hands were busy opening the panel in the droid's back and hooking wires up to the datapad in her hand and to the advanced agent interface visor on her head, her light-scan visor pushed down to hang around her neck.

"What're you doing?" Carth hissed at her.

"Downloading the visual logs in the droid's memory core, along with its programmed instructions. This is an unexpected piece of good fortune," Revan whispered back gleefully.

"You're going to reprogram it and use it as bait?" Dustil guessed.

"A gold star for you, Dustil," Revan flashed him a grin before turning back to her tinkering. Dustil couldn't help feeling good at her compliment. "I'm going to get it to stalk for us. The noise it'll make will mask our steps."

"What about any guards we might run into?" Carth asked. "We can't have it run berserk attacking people."

Revan shook her head. "No, I won't have it do that. I'll just have it go straight back to Khyrohn's sewer entrance. With luck, it'll distract the sentient guards long enough for us to slip inside."

Revan finished her tinkering and closed the panel back on the droid. She held up her pad and showed it to Dustil and Carth. "Look, I've got their patrol patterns. No actual sentients go on patrol down here, just droids, not that I blame them. The sentients stay back and guard the entrance. I can take care of the droids easily."

"So far, so good. Let's hope things keep going as smoothly as when we started," Carth muttered.

"Try to restrain yourself from jumping around in optimistic excitement, flyboy," Revan said dryly. Carth snorted. Dustil grinned. Revan powered the droid back up. It took no notice of them, turning on its heel to go back the way it came. They all followed it carefully, staying back a little distance.

Twice they ran into identical droid patrols; Revan zapped them with the Force, freezing them in place before the droids could catch them on their sensors. They ignored their fellow droid patroller, so the droids never caught them. After they'd slipped past, the droids would reactivate after Revan zapped them again, and would continue on as if nothing had happened.

Dustil saw that they were coming up on the entrance into House Khyrohn. The droid walked straight up to the door blithely and cycled through the thick airlock-type portal. Instead of the surprised and outraged cries he was expecting, he heard exasperated sighs.

"Damn it, one of the droids are on the blink. Again!" a female voice grumbled. There was a dull clank, as of a boot hitting a metal shin. "These things last about as long as a Twi'lek gigolo on aphrodisiac stims!"

Revan had managed to stick something in the door so that it didn't seal again properly. Dustil stuck his head in the crack above Revan's, and managed to catch a glimpse of a human woman, in uniform and armor, who was glowering at the droid Revan had hijacked. A Rodian, also in armor and uniform, burbled in amusement from where he sat at a desk, behind a console.

"Better the droids slogging through the shit out there than us, Pertiya," the Rodian said.

"Yeah, yeah, but I'm damned tired of having to fix these things every few days." The woman threw the droid's back panel open violently and started pulling wires and chips out angrily.

The Rodian looked like he was long familiar with this ritual; he pulled out a toolbox from under the desk. He ambled over to the woman, helpfully holding out tools when she asked for them.

Revan threw open the door and froze them in Force stasis. Both guards stopped moving, halted in mid-motion. She slipped inside, Dustil and Carth following. Carth took out a blaster, checked the settings on it carefully, and double-tapped the two guards in their temples.

Dustil caught the woman while Carth took the Rodian. They dragged them over to the chairs and set them down gently.

Carth looked thoughtfully at the cuffs both guards had strapped to their belts. "Hm. I think they'll keep for a while... I stunned them both twice, but better to be safe than sorry," he muttered. He took the cuffs and used them to tie the two guards to their chairs.

Revan had already sliced into the console at the desk while they were taking care of the guards. "Damn, this computer's not connected to the main network; it's a standalone system," Revan said in disappointment. She lifted her visor and scowled at the console.

Carth sighed. "It's never that easy, beautiful." He finished tying the Rodian to his chair, while Dustil secured the woman. Carth tugged experimentally at the bonds, and grunted in satisfaction when they held. "So where do we find one that _is_ connected to their main network? Blundering around until we find one's a recipe for disaster, to my mind," Carth said.

Revan sucked on her bottom lip while she thought. "Well, at least this console has up-to-date schematics of the building. At least, I _hope_ they're more up to date than what I've got." She tapped rapidly on her datapad. Looking over her shoulder, Dustil saw that she was correlating the maps from the computer with the ones Bospho had given them. Red outlines appeared around discrepancies.

"Right. According to this, their main computers are located in the lower levels of the building, below ground. I suppose it's to protect their network from being destroyed even if the building itself were demolished." Revan fiddled with the controls on the pad, rotating the display to show a glowing box representing the main computer chamber. It sat several stories below street level.

"How far is it from here?" Carth asked. He turned to Dustil. "Dustil, go into the 'fresher and clean the sewer gook off your boots and clothes, or they could just smell us coming."

Dustil saw that his father had already cleaned himself off. "Uh, good idea. Okay." He ducked into the guards' tiny refresher and cleaned the disgusting gunk off his boots and where it had spattered his trouser legs. He sniffed; no sewer stench lingered, or else he couldn't smell it after the mint explosion in his sinuses.

Revan took her turn after Dustil came back out. Carth was chewing on his lip, frowning at Revan's datapad. "So where are we going, Father?" he asked, peering over Carth's shoulder.

"We can't go to the main computer room, it's bound to be full of guards and surveillance and droids. We could get in and back out, I'm sure, but there's no way we could do it without attracting attention," Carth said, shaking his head.

Dustil glanced at the unconscious guards. "Disguises?" There were only two available, though, which meant he was likely to be left behind if Carth took his suggestion. _Damn._

Carth shook his head, to Dustil's relief. "No, that won't work. Unlike the Sith armor we used on Taris, the guards here, very wisely, don't have their faces covered up. Someone's bound to notice we're new faces, especially mine. And then, as Mission would say, the jig would be up."

"Revan could sneak in, couldn't she? Without tripping any alarms or alerting the guards?" Dustil asked. If they used this plan, Carth would have to stay behind and keep him in impatient, fuming company. He didn't know what would be worse; watching his father pace around worrying about Revan, or staying behind alone.

Carth's lips twisted in distaste at the suggestion, not to Dustil's surprise. "Even Revan would have trouble getting through so many security measures."

"I could, but it'd take _ages_. Time we certainly don't have."

Carth and Dustil spun around, hands going to weapons. "Dammit, woman, how many times have I told you not to sneak up on us like that?" Carth grumbled, taking his hands away from his blasters. Dustil pushed his heart back down into his chest from his mouth, and nodded emphatic agreement.

Revan smirked unrepentantly. "Keeps you on your toes. Anyway, as I was saying, I _could_ sneak into the main computer room, but we don't have to. Though it'd be nice if we could. We just need to find a console connected to the network. One with a high enough security access."

Dustil scratched his head. "That doesn't leave us too many options, does it? I mean, the servants don't need it, and probably not the security guards, which leaves just the family members and the head of security."

"Right." Revan nodded her approval of his thinking. "We may have to get ourselves up to the top, where all the family apartments are."

Carth's eyebrows crimped unhappily, probably at the thought of climbing all the way up the many, many floors, likely without the benefit of repulsorlift. "I don't suppose the head of security has a ground-floor office, does he?" he asked hopefully.

Revan looked at her datapad. "He's a smart bastard. He's got his office inside the computer bunker."

Carth heaved a huge sigh. "Figures. So what'll it be? Climbing up the vent shafts? And how many hundreds of stories do we have to go?" He jerked a thumb at the tied-up guards. "And how long do we have until they're missed?"

"We have about four hours." Revan tapped rapidly at the console. "And we don't have to climb. There's a service shaft with a lift here." She pointed at a blinking vertical block that stretched up to the top of the building.

"Guarded?" Carth asked.

"Naturally, but it doesn't seem to be guarded by anyone or anything specifically."

Carth raised a skeptical eyebrow. "How're we going to get past the guards without alerting them? I did tell you they have overlapping patrols at key spots."

"Does the service shaft look like a key spot?" Revan rested her chin in one hand, her other hand busily tapping fingers each in turn to her thumb. "You know, the patrols may _look_ alert and lively on the holo, but are they truly that alert in reality?" She raised her own eyebrow at Carth. "You're a soldier, you must know how men on guard have a tendency to... slack off, if the duty's routine and boring. Especially if it's a duty they've been doing for a long time."

Carth nodded thoughtfully. "You have a point. Guard duty's not the most exciting thing to do, and if they're not expecting trouble, they won't be nearly as careful as they should be. Security's probably really tight around the family, but not necessarily around the building. And extra security around the family might mean security's thin elsewhere." He frowned. "That doesn't mean we shouldn't be as careful as we can."

Revan nodded. "Let's get to that service lift, then. Are you two ready?"

"Ready," Dustil said.

"Blasters on stun?"

Both Carth and Dustil nodded.

"Let's be off, then."

* * *

Fic and pic cookies are available at the kotorfanfic site! Check out my guestbook, the link of which can be found on my profile, or from my page at kotorfanfic.

:pokes people who have her on their author alert list: Hey, guys, you've been awfully silent! Since you haven't removed yourselves from the alert list, you guys must think my fic's worth reading (or you're too lazy to take yourselves off...) Come on, tell me what you're liking and not liking! You don't have to write long reviews, I take anything? What do you mean, I sound desperate? :p :)

VMorticia: Thanks. Yeah, those rakghouls scare me, too. I mean, it looks like an infected person loses their genitalia when they turn into one. Yikes! o.o;

Rascarin: Thanks! There will definitely be more coming out (more than I ever imagined :p); I update every Friday. Or I try to, anyway. Dustil, as always, gives me hella trouble.

Ceridan: Yes, indeed, my fic's been rather slow on the action front lately, hasn't it? It can't be helped, though. :( I love doing battle scenes and action, but the plot has to move along, too.

sammie teufel: Eek, congealing! :stirs up the pot, er, plot: :D

arrow maker: Thanks!

Lunatic Pandora1: Indeed. I've been itching for some action, myself. I think you'll be a tad disappointed, though; Revan can't be as flashy with her powers or lightsabers as you'd like. Her disguise won't do a bit of good if she whips out lightsabers.

schmoopy: Heh, thanks. More action!


	37. Skulking

**Chapter 37: Skulking**

Revan took point again, leading Carth and Dustil up the small flight of stairs from the sewer bunker, where there was another airlock-type door. Revan gave the lock a cursory glance, then waved a hand at it, using the Force to open it. The door opened to reveal a small platform that branched out after a few feet into three corridors. Revan moved slowly along the righthand corridor, so that she could use her Jedi senses to detect approaching sentients or the presence of surveillance devices.

Carth glanced around as he moved along as fast but as stealthily as he could--no easy task for a man wearing heavy armor. The bunker was utilitarian and undecorated, and so was the corridor they found themselves in. There was only one way into the Khyrohn building from here; if he remembered what he saw on Revan's datapad correctly, the other two led to dead ends.

Despite his best efforts, his boot heels rang slightly on the metal grating of the floor. Dustil did better, but his footsteps weren't totally silent, either. Revan glanced back and rolled her eyes at them, _What am I going to do with you two?_ He shrugged apologetically at her.

They slipped around a corner to find a locked door at the end of the unexpectedly short corridor; an access panel was inset into the wall next to it, one a bit more complex than the one that lead out from the sewer bunker. Revan examined it carefully, then held her hand out over it. A moment later, the lock beeped, flashed _Identity confirmed, access granted_ and the door swished open obediently. She slid through as quietly as a ghost, holding out her hand, _Hold your position_. She slipped around the corner, leaving Carth and Dustil to wait impatiently.

They were still in the utilitarian service tunnels, with exposed pipes running along the unpainted walls. The lights were bright and harsh to Carth's eyes after the dimness of the sewers, but at least the floors were now of permacrete rather than metal; his boots wouldn't ring quite so loudly on them.

Revan reappeared and gave them the _All clear_ signal. Carth restrained himself from moving too quickly, and concentrated on quieting his steps, moving behind Dustil. Revan would pause every so often, staring at the ceilings. Checking for cameras, Carth guessed. When she found one, she would make a small gesture, then motion for them to run past. Since no alarms sounded, he thought Revan's use of the Force to blind the cameras for the few seconds needed was effective.

She'd practiced with two cameras she'd bought until she'd developed a migraine of monumental proportions, but she had mastered it in time for this mission. Although the cameras had exploded for a total of twelve or thirteen times before her control was sufficiently delicate; thankfully, their hotel suite was well soundproofed, and no one had commented on the explosions.

If the Jedi hadn't snapped her up, Carth thought OFI and Republic Intelligence would be arm wrestling over her to get her to work for them. _My girlfriend, the spy._

Revan lead them down another corridor, this one lined with a few doors, and opened one curiously. Carth saw racks of cleaning supplies and rank upon rank of cleaning droids. Revan threw up her head suddenly, muscles tensed. Carth dropped his hands to his blasters, while Dustil drew his own when he saw both of them standing rigid.

Revan pushed them both into the closet, making Carth stumble in amongst the deactivated droids. Dustil was shoved roughly against him as Revan squeezed herself in after, closing the door hastily. The small room was plunged into darkness.

Carth caught his balance with one hand on the smooth, round head of a droid, and told his heart to slow down. He could hear Dustil's breathing, speeded up in excitement, while Revan's was surprisingly slow and steady. The astringent smell of the cleaning fluids made his nose itch, prompting him to clap one hand over his face to prevent incipient sneezes.

A few moments later he heard voices approaching, moving along the length of the corridor, before passing out of his hearing. He hoped they weren't going down to visit the guards. If he remembered correctly, that should've been a patrol, and it looked like they were as slack as Revan had assumed. Alert guards would've checked every room they passed.

Revan opened the door again and moved swiftly down towards the end, ignoring the main lift doors and moving to a smaller one, that was almost hidden behind a stack of containers, recessed into a niche. The doors were painted with black and yellow stripes, declaiming it as a service shaft of some sort. It required access codes, but Revan used the Force to once again bypass its security.

It opened its doors, and Carth saw that it was rather small, without any sides, more like a repulsorlift platform than an elevator. Revan stepped on, beckoning them to follow. Dustil reholstered his blasters and stepped in, shuffling to the back. Carth followed, to find that it was very cramped inside, what with three bodies, their weapons and packs. Carth attempted to take up less space by hugging Revan closely, strictly to make it safer for everyone, of course. A small puff of breath from her nose told him she wasn't fooled, but she didn't complain, either.

Revan tapped the button on the console, little more than a small box at the top of a stem rising from the platform edge. They rose smoothly upwards at a swift pace, the space inside the shaft silent except for their breathing and the quiet hum of the repulsorlift generator in the platform. Carth stared up, but he couldn't see anything but darkness. Lights only flickered on when they neared, to flicker back out when they passed, giving him no indication of how high they had gone.

After what Carth estimated to be ten or fifteen minutes, the lift came abruptly to a halt. The lights came on and remained steady, allowing him to see a painted number on the wall. They were near the top of the building, which meant they were quite near the family apartments, with possibly more alert guards.

Revan cocked her head this way and that for a moment, then opened the door. From the inside, they didn't need access codes, evidently. Again she told them to wait while she scouted ahead. Dustil peered through the small aperture out into the hall. Carth stared out along with him.

Instead of bare permacrete, this hall was covered with dark green carpeting, similar to what Carth had seen in House Vosaryk. A mural stretched all across the walls, instead of statuary and artwork. It was beautifully painted, the colors gleaming bright and vivid even in the soft light. There was no question this hall was for the family, or its honored guests. Carth detected a faint scent of some sort of flowery perfume in the air, mixed with wood varnish.

Revan reappeared and motioned to them to follow. Dustil crouched to clear the low doorway and stepped through. Carth followed, glad to find that the plush, thick carpet muffled the sounds of his boots. They passed more doorways, decorated so that the designs merged with the mural. Revan would stop them occasionally to check for patrols or cameras. She didn't repeat her camera-blinding trick as much as she did in sewer level, probably because the family treasured their privacy. Carth could only be relieved; he couldn't scurry as quietly as the others.

Several times Revan stopped them to let squads of battle droids go past, though they were easier for him and Dustil to detect, since they were hardly quiet, with their synchronized, tramping metallic footfalls. Carth wondered how the inhabitants of the floor could ignore them, and decided their rooms must be well soundproofed.

Only once did Revan have to meddle with the droids with her Force powers, when they had nowhere else to hide from their sensors, or rather, nowhere else for him and Dustil to hide, since Revan could've easily evaded them with her stealth generator. She froze them in their tracks with the Force and led him and Dustil through the eerily-still droid patrol; once past them and safely around a corner, she restarted them with her powers, and they went off, blithely unaware of the interlopers that had slipped through their ranks.

At one intersection, Revan flashed them frantic _Retreat!_ and _Take cover_ signals, forcing them to shuffle quietly but rapidly back, where she shoved them into another closet, this one much more cramped than the one in the basement. Carth was pushed into the wall, and Dustil was stuffed unceremoniously against him. The butt of one of his son's blasters dug uncomfortably into his groin, and he suppressed a pained grunt when Dustil accidentally trod on his foot. Dustil tapped his arm in apology. The door was pushed closed, shoving Dustil even more tightly against him.

Carth drew in his breath when he realized Revan wasn't inside with them, not that there was much more room in there even for her slight frame. He stopped himself from breaking down the door in a panic, since he'd first have to go through his son. He took a deep breath; Revan had a stealth generator, and she was quite capable of taking care of herself. He tried to console himself with that thought, but it didn't help much. He couldn't hear any fighting going on outside, or voices raised to sound the alarm, so she hadn't been discovered. Yet.

Footsteps sounded, loud enough that the carpet couldn't muffle them. Many footsteps, Carth realized. It sounded like an entire troop, footsteps syncopated like a marching band. Their steps vibrated the floor as they approached, making him wonder if they wore heavy armor. They approached their door, passing so closely they seemed only inches away, before they finally faded into the distance. He exhaled silently in relief. He waited impatiently for Revan to open the door, but she still didn't show.

Minutes passed. Unable to contain himself any longer, Carth reached out and groped around for the door handle, startling Dustil with his movement. He managed to find and grasp the handle; he opened it slightly and peered out at the limited view the crack afforded him. After a moment, when no one appeared to shove the door open, he tried to slide out past Dustil, his scabbards scraping noisily on the wall; he winced at the seemingly-thunderous sound. Dustil obligingly sucked in his gut to give his father more room to maneuver around him. Carth popped out of the closet, feeling like a crushed grape that had been through a wine press.

No one was in the corridor. No Revan, either, to his alarm. Carth heard a hiss, and he looked up to see Revan contorted against the ceiling, with her arms braced against the corner where the walls met. One foot rested on the lintel of a doorway, and the other was curled around a light fixture. She glared at him in exasperation, before jumping down lightly onto her feet next to him, her landing making hardly any noise.

Carth had long since learned to communicate with Revan, and vice versa, without words, using nothing but facial expressions and gestures. Revan frowned fiercely and poked him in the chest, her scowl clearly saying _You should've waited for me to give the all-clear first before showing yourself_.

Carth shrugged contritely and smiled sheepishly, _Sorry, I told you I wasn't cut out for spy-type missions_. She sighed and shook her head.

Dustil had since emerged from their hiding place while Revan was berating him silently, looking both ways along the corridor, sparing only a surprised look for Revan's choice of concealment. Dustil wiggled his fingers at them in a shooing motion, _We should move along, we're exposed here_.

Revan nodded and led them along swiftly, leading them unerringly along the corridors until Carth was thoroughly lost, to a door decorated with the House Khyrohn sigil. Carth frowned. It was the only such door decorated in this manner; the other doors they'd passed were also carved with motifs of geometric patterns, but none of them were this fancy and rich.

_These_ doors were made of white marble, inlaid with gems and gold leaf, showing stylized computers and plants. The curling vines of the plants were of delicately carved pale green jade. A strange combination, to Carth's mind, until he remembered that House Khyrohn specialized in computer systems and hydroponics, while House Vosaryk specialized in starships.

Revan examined the lock; it was much more substantial and elaborate than the one that had given them access into House Khyrohn from the sewer bunker. She chewed her lip and closed her eyes, her fingers touching the panel lightly. She opened her eyes again, her brow furrowed in concentration as she stared at the lock with such unblinking intensity, her gaze should've burned a hole right through it.

Long minutes passed while Carth fought to keep from fidgeting, nervously looking back down the corridor and straining his hearing to catch the sounds of those heavy troopers coming back. Dustil looked as nervous as he; he kept rubbing the butts of his blasters with his fingers and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Just when Carth was about to urge Revan to give it up, the lock beeped and opened. Revan wiped sweat from her face, venting a triumphant sigh. The doors swung open, revealing a dark, unlit office.

Carth waited for Revan and Dustil to slip in first before following; he closed the doors behind them, but left them open a crack. That done, he stepped back and took in the beautifully-appointed room. It was huge, and filled with communications equipment, holo projectors both large and small and huge vidscreens. It looked more like the tactics room of a warship than an office. Statues had been shoved unceremoniously to the corners of the room, where they stood forlornly in the company of their stony brethren, making room for more computer consoles. Cables and wires ran all over like spaghetti across the floor.

"Just whose room did we just break into, anyway?" Carth asked, _sotto voce_, looking around at the computer equipment. They made a strange contrast with the scattered antiques and general air of history and age of the room's decor.

"Egrin Khyrohn's," Revan whispered back, pulling the advanced agent interface visor down over her eyes.

Carth moved his lips, mouthing the name silently. Why did it sound so familiar? A connection clicked. He groaned. "_Please_ tell me we didn't just break into the Head of House Khyrohn's own apartment," he said mildly, rolling his eyes heavenward. His stomach sank.

"Hey, anything we get would be straight from the dewback's mouth, hey?" Revan moved along between the consoles to a large, jet-black desk, its surface covered with printouts and datapads.

Carth covered his face with a hand. "Revan, I love you dearly, but you're _insane_!"

Revan connected the wires leading from her visor to the console's datalink ports. "I prefer 'daring', or 'bold'." Her grin flashed at him in the darkness.

Carth looked around, noting doors that presumably led into the Head's bedroom and living space. Since Revan had led them in here, she must've known the current occupant wasn't present. He directed Dustil to lend Revan a hand while he stood watch at the door.

Revan pulled data chips from her datapad, frowning in concentration. She handed them to Dustil, who carefully placed them in a shock-proof gel case. Revan tapped on both the console and the datapad rapidly, her head switching back and forth between them.

"Very high level of encryption, which is to be expected, but it means we have less time to make our escape than I'd thought," Revan muttered worriedly, sucking on her lower lip.

"How long is this going to take?" Dustil asked.

"I don't know. The deeper I have to go, the longer it'll take my pad to decrypt files. If we're going to find proof of the attack on Lady Versenne, I think I'll have to get to the very deepest layer."

"Can't you just download the files and decrypt them later?" Dustil asked impatiently.

"I have to first break through the encryption that grants me access to the files themselves." Revan handed Dustil some more data chips and inserted blank ones.

Carth caught the sound of voices in the distance. "Someone's coming!" he hissed to Revan and Dustil. He closed the doors completely, thanking the Force modern locks closed silently, and hurried to the hiding place he'd staked out earlier, a huge couch. He had some trouble getting under it; his swords kept catching on the fabric.

Revan unplugged everything hastily and dived under the desk. Dustil crawled under another one that held a bank of computer consoles.

"...get some sleep, my lord," a man said. Feet moved into Carth's field of vision.

"I will, I will," said another man tiredly, this one a tenor. "There's just not enough time in one day to do everything I want to do. And there're so many things I want to do that are still undone!"

"Yes, my lord," the other man said placatingly. He coughed delicately. "Your advisors did suggest you find, ah, someone to help you with all your duties and tasks..." he trailed off suggestively.

"You mean I should get off my rear end, find a wife and whelp some heirs for the House," the tenor replied stiffly.

Carth guessed the tenor voice belonged to Lord Khyrohn. The boots walked towards him, and he held his breath, hoping they hadn't seen him under it. His fear proved unfounded; the man just wanted to sit on the couch he was hiding under. He blessed whoever made the sturdy piece of furniture; he couldn't feel any movement at all.

"How many times have I told you, Sircam, that I won't marry someone I loathe, simply to make an alliance marriage? My father did, and look where it got him; he spoke to Mother perhaps once, twice a year. Not at all, if they could help it."

Sircam sighed. "It's true there're no women of marriageable age of any rank matching yours except--"

Lord Khyrohn cut him off curtly. "You know _that's_ impossible." His voice sounded stiffer than ever.

Sircam sighed again. "Yes, my lord. Forgive me for my forwardness." Lord Khyrohn snorted amusedly. Sircam coughed a chuckle. "I won't keep you from your rest anymore, my lord. If there's nothing else...?"

"No--wait. Have you found anything interesting over at House Sayir? I don't like what I'm seeing. They're up to something, I can feel it in my bones," Lord Khyrohn muttered distractedly, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the arm of the couch.

"You're much too young to be feeling anything with your bones just yet, my lord," Sircam said dryly. "I'm sorry to report that our intelligence is still incomplete. If Sayir is up to something, they're hiding it very well."

"Blast. Push it, Sircam. I want our agents to get me some concrete data on what they're doing. Authorize a mole operation if necessary," Lord Khyrohn commanded.

The other pair of boots in Carth's view snapped their heels together in a pose of attention. "Yes, my lord. If that is all, I bid you good night, my lord."

"Good night, Sircam."

Carth watched the pair of boots walk past, then heard the doors reopen and close. He heard the creak of the couch as Lord Khyrohn stood, and watched his boots walk slowly towards the desk where Revan was hiding. He held his breath.

Lord Khyrohn sighed deeply, then Carth saw him throw a jacket over a chair, not bothering to pick it up again when it slid off onto the floor. There was a sound of a cushioned seat being sat on, then a glass clicking on the desk. Ice cubes tinkled musically, and then there was the sound of something being poured into a glass. Keys were being tapped desultorily while the chinks of ice rattled rhythmically. Carth hoped the man would get to bed soon after his nightcap. He ruthlessly suppressed a horrible urge to sneeze.

"Blast," Lord Khyrohn muttered, disgruntled. A chair was shoved back, and Carth saw Lord Khyrohn's boots move from the desk towards one of the other doors in the room.

Nothing more happened for a few minutes. Carth decided to wait until Revan came out of her hiding place and give him the all-clear before he would venture out. After another few minutes, Revan shuffled out from under the desk and crept as silently as a wraith to the door Lord Khyrohn had gone through. He wondered what she was thinking of doing.

Revan came back out pretty quickly, to his relief, and flashed the _All clear_ sign down at floor height so that both Carth and Dustil could see it. Then she scuttled back over to Lord Khyrohn's desk again and reconnected her visor and datapad to the console.

Carth pushed the couch up and slithered out from under it, brushing dust from his clothes as quietly as he could as soon as he was back on his feet. "What did you go do, beautiful?" he whispered to Revan as he moved to join her.

"I used the Force to send him into a deep slumber, so that he won't wake up even if we made some noise," Revan replied distantly as she resumed tapping keys. "I don't think you'll need to watch the door anymore; I don't think anyone will disturb Lord Khyrohn for anything but a life-or-death emergency."

"Is that all you did?" Carth asked, eyebrow arched.

"I did a bit of ogling on the side," Revan replied innocently and winked. "He sleeps in the buff."

"You looked?" Carth asked, a corner of his mouth twitching up despite himself.

"I could hardly _not_ look," Revan said with a smirk. "He's... aesthetically pleasing."

Carth didn't know whether to feel outraged or amused. He settled for feeling exasperatedly amused. "Woman, you have _no_ shame!"

"Nope," came her cheerful agreement. "Don't worry--I look but don't touch."

Carth chuckled. "I can only hope you'll be as, uh--forgiving--as me if I do the same."

"As long as you share, I don't mind." Revan gave him another saucy wink.

Carth laughed, feeling his cheeks heat. He should've known better than to match wits with Revan on her own ground.

Dustil emerged from underneath the bank of consoles and moved over to join them. "How much longer can we stay, Revan?" he asked, pointing significantly to his chrono.

"Just... a little longer." Revan bit her lip in concentration, her fingers moving in a blur on the console. "I think I'm getting close. _Real_ close."

Carth looked over her shoulder. Streams of numbers and strange characters flowed down the screen rapidly as encrypted access levels were broken into and files were sucked into her datapad.

"Hah!" Revan muttered triumphantly. A light blinked on the console. "Oh, shit," she muttered, much less triumphantly.

"What?" Carth asked, concerned. He stared at the screen but couldn't make heads or tails of the symbols scrolling down. Presumably they made more sense to Revan.

"I must've triggered a tell-tale somewhere." Revan frantically unplugged her visor and pad from the console and ran to the door. "We have to get out of here before someone sees it's been tripped." She cocked her head this way and that, listening for guards with her Jedi senses. Satisfied there was no one near, she threw open the doors and and fairly flew through them, Carth and Dustil on her heels.

Carth closed the doors and reengaged the lock. Revan lead them back to the service shaft, pausing only to blind the cameras to let them pass undetected. They moved as quickly as they could without making too much noise.

Revan's hand spasmed on the lift controls and the door opened.

To reveal no platform.

"Damn! The thing either resets itself, or someone's figured out where we are and put the building in lockdown," Revan grated out.

Carth heard the sounds of footsteps in the distance. _Many_ footsteps. Heavy ones. "Any other way out?" He loosened his blasters in their holsters, and so did Dustil. He'd _really_ hoped they wouldn't have to kill anyone on this mission, but it was starting to look like that wouldn't be possible. He felt sick at the idea of killing these guards; they weren't Sith. They were just doing their jobs.

Revan threw off her jacket, revealing the climbing harness she had on underneath, and wrapped the sleeves around her waist. She detached a grappling hook from the spool of cord in the middle of her waist and hooked it to the top of the door, pulling on it to make sure it was firmly seated.

"What're you doing?" Carth asked uneasily. The approaching guards sounded like they were getting nearer; he could feel their footsteps vibrate in the floor. He debated as to whether use blasters or swords. Dustil could cover him if he needed to hold the guards off...

Revan stared down into the darkness of the shaft and chewed on her lip in thought. "Tensile strength of a ton," she muttered, ignoring Carth. "We should be well within the safety margins..."

"Revan..." Dustil prompted through gritted teeth.

"Dustil, hold onto my harness in the back," Revan said, grabbing Carth's arm and pushing him in front of her. Dustil tentatively grasped the two straps that ran from her belt over her shoulders. "You're going to have to hold on more tightly, Dustil, or you're going to end up as a smear at the bottom." Dustil hastily changed his hold on the straps to something resembling a death grip.

"Wait, we're just going to _jump down_?" Carth asked, shocked. "You're _insane_!"

"No, just desperate. And _you_ are wasting time," Revan said impatiently.

Then Revan wrapped her arms around Carth and pushed him through the doorway.

Straight down into the lift shaft.

* * *

Feza, icey cold, VMorticia, Lunatic Pandora1: Okay, snarkywench is the first one who pointed that out to me, kudos to you guys. I think. :p The explanation for this will be in Chapter 38; thank goodness I'm fully paid up on my Cover My Ass insurance. :p :)

Firera: Those mints surfaced way back in Chapter 21. :) I'm not sure where I came up with them... I just wanted to have a kind of tension breaker.

Ceridan: Heating up, that's a good phrase for it. Enjoy!

Prisoner 24601: You like characters sewer crawling because you are an evil, evil woman. ;) As can be seen in your fic. :) I just wish you wouldn't take a month to update...

arrow maker: I wouldn't recommend them... you can kiss your sinuses goodbye if you take one. ;)

sammie teufel: Waiting for what? For Revan's debut at House Vosaryk as, uh, Revan? Not sayin' nothin'... Dum de dum...

schmoopy: Revan, save the kittens! _Save the kittens!_

icey cold: Yep, those candies have their place in my fic... My Revan's gotta have a vice of _some_ sort, so it might as well be a sweet tooth. :) Hm, Gamorreans vs sewers with no walkways... On the one hand, you have Gamorrean guts and blood all over you, on the other, you get... unmentionable sludge on your boots... Tough call. :D And hey, isn't it enough for me to update every Friday? And you're one to talk, since you haven't updated in nearly a month... :p

VMorticia: They're not genitalia, they're... tentacles, yeah, tentacles! o.o

Lunatic Pandora1: Yeah, I'm afraid lightsaber battles are a bit in the future...


	38. Falling

**Chapter 38: Falling**

Carth managed to restrain himself from screaming as they fell, the wind of their passage blowing his hair back, stinging his eyes. His heart and stomach were violently left behind, hopefully to catch up with the rest of his body later. His hands had automatically grasped Revan around the waist, gripping her belt for good measure, hard enough for his knuckles to hurt. He looked up over Revan's shoulder into Dustil's wide-eyed look of panic. He was not surprised to see his son's mouth was open in a silent scream. Revan's own face was stretched with a terribly exhilarated grin and her eyes danced, obviously enjoying the ride and his discomfiture.

The sides of the shaft blurred past, as they rushed past floors in seconds what had taken them minutes to reach on the platform.

Revan took one hand away from her grip on Carth and fiddled with her belt. Carth's arms tightened around her, feeling the lack of support keenly. They stopped abruptly, the sudden halt snapping Carth's and Dustil's heads back. They bounced on the elastic cord several times before they came to a full stop, spinning gently. Carth's ears popped painfully, and from the pained look on Dustil's face, so had his.

"Everybody off!" Revan said cheerfully, as if she hadn't just plunged them several miles down.

Carth looked down to see the platform about ten feet or so beneath their gently-revolving feet. Revan had cut it mighty fine. He dropped heavily onto the platform, wobbling a little as he caught his balance and his breath. His heart and stomach returned sullenly to their rightful places in his chest. He looked up and waved. Dustil dropped down and staggered; Carth helped steady him with one hand on his elbow. Revan lowered herself the rest of the way and motioned for Carth and Dustil to stay back. They pressed themselves to the wall.

Revan pressed the spool mechanism on her belt and plastered herself to the wall, leaving the middle of the platform empty. The cord dropped down and coiled messily into a heap, followed by the soft thump of the grappling hook. She quickly gathered it in, spooling it back neatly while Carth opened the door cautiously, the harsh brightness making him blink after the near-darkness of the shaft.

Carth shot Revan a dirty look when she moved up behind him. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" he whispered.

Revan gave him an innocent look that was spoiled by the unrepentant grin on her face. "A straight plunge from several hundreds of stories up with two handsome men hanging on to me? What's not to enjoy?" she whispered back.

Dustil rolled his eyes over Revan's head at Carth. It was too dark to tell if his son was blushing. Carth simply shook his head. He slid out and stepped aside, letting Revan take point once more. As yet, no alarms were sounding, nor were any guards in evidence on this floor. Revan ran ahead confidently, her feet making no noise on the metal grating and permacrete floor. Carth glanced at his chrono as he followed, less silently; they only had another fifteen minutes left before the guards watching the sewer entrance were due to be relieved at the end of their shift.

They didn't meet any more patrols, fortunately for Carth's twanging nerves, and reached the sewer bunker without any further incident. The two guards were still tied up and unconscious in their chairs when they arrived at a run.

"What're we going to do with them?" Dustil asked a little breathlessly, pointing at the guards.

Revan looked around, then pointed at the desk. "Untie the Rodian and bring him over here." Carth unstrapped the cuffs from the Rodian's hands and wrists and carried him over to the desk, where she arranged the Rodian's limbs, folding his arms on the desk and resting his head on them.

"You're going to make it look like they fell asleep?" Carth asked. Revan nodded distractedly as she checked the desk and floor for anything they might have left behind. "Is that going to work?" he asked dubiously.

Revan shrugged. "I don't know, but I doubt they'll want to tell everyone they fell asleep on the job. If they don't confess, it'll muddy the trail even more."

Dustil had taken the cuffs off the woman, but looked at a loss as to where to put her. "Hey, what if we make it look like the droid stunned them both? The woman guard already knew it was malfunctioning..." he suggested.

Revan beamed. "Great idea, Dustil!"

Carth smiled wryly. "Excellent idea, son." He tried not to think about where his son had picked up such... _sneaky_ tactics. _Be glad_, he told himself harshly. _Dustil wouldn't be here if he hadn't learned those lessons, and learned them well._

Revan looked around, then pointed at the floor, where the toolbox and its contents were still spilled messily where the Rodian had dropped it. "Bring the Rodian and put him over here." She helped Dustil lay the woman guard on the floor, and arranged her limbs and the Rodian's so that they looked like they'd just collapsed there. Carth gave her their cuffs so that she could reattach them to their belts while he hurriedly checked the droid's rifle settings, making sure it was set to stun.

Revan shooed Carth and Dustil out of the bunker ahead of her and closed the door firmly, relocking it. "Mission complete, gentlemen," Revan said, taking off her agent interface visor and putting on her light-scan goggles. Carth and Dustil did the same. "Let's get the hell out of here."

They splashed off into the darkness of the sewers right behind her.

*** * ***

Carth, with great relief, threw his stinking clothes into the disposer, and handed his equally-smelly boots to JC-01 for cleaning. He started unstrapping his heavy exoskeleton, watching Revan lay out the data chips with Khyrohn's encrypted files they had stolen. She was uploading them into a security computer console Lady Versenne had given them when Revan had asked for a powerful enough machine to crunch through encryption codes. Dustil had gone to his own suite to clean up.

Revan finished inputting the data into the console and started the decryption process. Then she stretched her arms and back, getting the kinks out.

Carth shrugged out of his armor. "When do you think it'll finish decrypting the files?" he asked over his shoulder. He arranged his armor carefully in the closet.

"Until morning or afternoon, I think. The Head of House Khyrohn would have some heavy-duty encryption on his files. They won't be easy to break," Revan said absently.

The door to Dustil's suite chimed. Dustil stuck his head through. "Anything happening?" he asked. He had also disposed of his dirty clothes, and his armor was half unstrapped.

Carth shook his head. "Nothing yet, son. The files won't be decrypted until sometime tomorrow," he replied. "Why don't you turn in for the night? We'll let you know when we have something."

Dustil looked a little disappointed at the news, but nodded. "Okay. Good night, then."

"Good night, son," Carth said. He smiled. "Good job, Dustil," he added.

"Good night, Dustil," Revan said, looking up from the console. "You did very well tonight." She gave Dustil an approving thumbs-up.

Dustil grinned at the praise. "Thanks." He waved and closed the door.

Carth began unstrapping his gauntlets, when a niggling thought that'd been gnawing at him finally surfaced. "Hey... how come you didn't use your lightsabers to cut those bars?" he asked, frowning at Revan.

Revan looked up from the computer and gave him a look, the one that said _Don't be a stupid idiot_. "Right, and leave glaring evidence a Jedi was around, swinging a lightsaber? I might as well just leave a calling card on the wall saying 'A Jedi was here, insert maniacal laughter'."

"How would anyone know, though? It could've been done with a laser cutter," Carth protested.

Revan shook her head. "A laser cutter has a tighter, narrower beam. One could easily tell the difference between something cut with a lightsaber and one with a laser cutter, given the right forensic analysis. Granted, I don't expect anyone to really make the connection and look for something like that, but better safe than sorry, yes?"

Carth had to admit she had a point.

Revan unwrapped from around her neck the severe, plain braid she'd sensibly bound her hair in for their trek into the sewers and shook her hair out. "Ew, I stink," she said, wrinkling her nose as she took off her sewage-splashed jacket and shirt.

"Hey, I've got an idea; I'll scrub your back if you'll scrub mine," Carth said disingenously, grinning as he slipped the power packs from his blasters and put his swords into their footlocker.

Revan laughed. "It's a deal!" She unclipped her lightsabers from her belt and handed them to him for safekeeping. She looked at the security computer, where it sat humming away, lights blinking as it crunched through the encrypted files. "Carth, I think we may have to look into House Sayir, too. If Lord Khyrohn thinks they're up to no good, we should do the same. All of this... activity, at just this point in time, smacks of more than just coincidence."

"Alright, so we'll look into House Sayir," Carth said. "_Tomorrow_," he added firmly. "We need to get some sleep first before we can go out and take down the bad guys, beautiful." He scooped Revan up and headed for the refresher. Despite her claims of sewer stench, he though she smelled just fine to him. He buried his nose into her hair and took a deep, experimental sniff. Just for the sake of research, of course.

Revan squeaked in surprise at his move. "I thought we were supposed to get some sleep," she said impishly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Shower first, then sleep. Eventually."

*** * ***

Carth, Dustil and Revan sat around the table in their suite the next morning, sipping caffa and perusing the files they had stolen from House Khyrohn on their datapads.

It had taken the computer several hours to break through the high level of encryption on the files, even with the best code-breaking programs Revan had, given to her by OFI and Republic Intelligence, along with several custom-made by T3-M4.

Still, they finally had the fruits of their labors in their hands, and it was clear Revan must've sucked Lord Khyrohn's console dry, from the sheer number of files they had. They had decided to skip everything that had less than the highest of encryption codes, narrowed down further by Revan's keyword searching program; they would read everything else later.

Revan straightened up on the couch where she sat with Carth. Carth and Dustil looked up at her curiously. "Hey, listen to this--_My agents tell me it will no longer be possible to advance my plans for LV, which is a pity, because I had intended to capture LV myself. This would drive V to such lengths of distraction, I might well be able to wrest the Solorne contract from V for computer systems. Granted, I must also admit to a rather petty desire to see V in such a tizzy. It seems I'm not the only one who had that bright idea, but whoever the idiot was, he botched it, so now security has tightened considerably around LV; any plans I have made will have to be shot out the airlock. It is perhaps just as well, since V and my House are such bitter enemies and rivals. V would automatically suspect me at once, whether or not I had done it._"

"'LV' must be Lady Versenne, 'V' must be Lord Vosaryk," Dustil said thoughtfully.

"I think you're right, son." Carth shook his head at the ruthless tactics the Houses employed to get rid of competition; they brought new meaning to the word 'cutthroat'. And here he'd thought the Sith were bad. "Well, there's our proof that Khyrohn didn't do it. Except that he'd wanted to, and somebody beat him to the punch."

"Yes..." Revan drawled the word as she thought. Her fingers tapped a pensive tattoo on the datapad. "Khyrohn is off the list of suspects." She sighed. "Which leaves us with still a very long list."

"Do you think this is enough to help Lady Versenne stop the declaration of _kersai_?" Dustil asked dubiously.

"I don't know. I hope so," Revan said, just as skeptically.

"Hey, I found a bit of what we overheard Khyrohn talking about last night, about House Sayir," Carth said, waving his datapad. "_There is something strange going on at House Sayir. I don't know what, and I don't know why, but something has them stirred up. None of my agents, as yet, have been able to penetrate House Sayir's security to learn more. I may have to send someone in to infiltrate Sayir, to see if I can get my hands on something more concrete. Note to self: purchases._"

Carth looked up at Revan, then at Dustil. "What do you make of that?"

"I... don't know. Yet." Revan rubbed her chin. "Anything that could worry the lord of one of the most powerful Houses on Sluis Van deeply disturbs me."

"Aren't we getting a little sidetracked here?" Dustil asked, frowning slightly.

"Dustil's right. We're already going out on a limb here for Lady Versenne; I don't know if we should get in any deeper," Carth agreed.

Revan shook her head at him. "Here I thought you'd find this as suspicious as I do. Don't you think this smacks of more than just coincidence?" She held up her thumb. "Lord Khyrohn thinks of kidnapping Lady Versenne," she raised her index finger, "House Sayir is up to something strange." Her middle finger joined its two upraised fellows. "And Lord Vosaryk is preparing to declare _kersai_. My gut tells me these are all somehow related. Somehow... _connected_."

Carth's brows drew together. And when a _Jedi_ said she had a gut feeling, it usually turned out to be genuine. "Are you saying _Sayir_ may have been the real culprit? Since we've already scratched Khyrohn off the list?" He leaned back on the couch, tapping a finger on his datapad. "Maybe we're being a little premature in doing that. Just because Lord Khyrohn says _he_ didn't have his agents do it doesn't mean one of his more ambitious subordinates didn't try it on his own initiative."

Revan looked dubious. "I think I can reliably say one of his subordinates didn't do it, because those men were professionals. The amount of credits paid to hire them wasn't insignificant. A well-run House has very stringent control over its credits, tracking expense accounts and such." She waved the datapad in her hand. "Besides, these look to be Lord Khyrohn's most personal logs, and he sounds like the real meticulous type. He's also, according to Lady Versenne, relatively new to his position. He's not going to want to encourage ambitious subordinates."

Dustil's brow wrinkled. "Are we talking about a House or the Sith? Because it doesn't sound like there's much difference."

Carth shot his son a look. Sometimes he could go for days thinking they had a more-or-less normal father-son relationship. And then Dustil goes and says something like that, popping the bubble. Dustil shrugged helplessly.

Revan grimaced ruefully. "The Sluis Van Houses' methods are a lot more discreet, Dustil. Not to mention that they war for commercial and political control of Sluis Van, not the galaxy. Still, when we're this close to it, the differences do... blur."

"So what do we do now?" Carth asked. "Do we report back to Lady Versenne with what we've got?"

Revan pursed her lips. "I think we should. We have enough evidence to satisfy her, I think." She made no move to stand, though. She stared down at the datapad, currently displaying the House Sayir logo.

"Revan?" Dustil asked, when she didn't speak for several minutes. He raised an eyebrow at Carth, who shrugged.

Revan blinked. "Ah, yes. I think... I think it may be better if we looked into House Sayir in the meantime. Lord Khyrohn said 'purchases', right?"

Carth nodded. "Do we check what's been on House Sayir's shopping list, then?" He grinned when Dustil groaned softly.

"I think we'd better," Revan said, smiling at Dustil. "Don't worry, we'll help. It'll go much faster, that way."

Dustil looked relieved. "What're we looking for, anyway?"

Revan stood and walked over to the console. "Anything out of the ordinary." She looked at her datapad, frowning. "House Sayir specializes in ship weapons and has controlling interests in the small arms industry." Her frown deepened. "Which... means they don't actually _need_ to look for outside sources to buy..."

Carth put a finger to his lips, asking for silence, when Dustil opened his mouth to speak. Carth recognized the faraway look in her eyes; she was thinking much too fast for her mouth to keep up.

Revan was fiddling with the holo projector on the console. Charts formed and floated in the air. A little more fiddling, and a line appeared on the chart, starting out steadily, dipping or rising slightly at times, but near the end it started to taper down and then hold at a plateau.

Carth walked over and looked more closely at the chart. "What's this?" he asked quietly.

Revan sat down onto a chair, staring at the chart. "It's a graph showing House Sayir's profits for the last decade."

Carth frowned. Dustil walked over to join them at the projector. "Hey, their sales just hold steady over the last five years," Dustil noted, pointing a finger at the line.

Revan touched her fingers, each in turn, to her thumb. "Yes... which makes no sense, because the war was still going strong back then. If anything, their sales should be going through the roof." She raised her eyebrows at Carth.

Carth held up his hands, palms out, and shrugged. "Don't look at me, beautiful. I was hardly in charge of supply for the Fleet." He scratched his chin thoughtfully, the noise of his fingers rasping against his whiskers sounding loud in the silence. "Do you want me to find out? I suppose I could get in touch with some people who might know some people..."

Revan waved a hand at him. "No, that won't be necessary. I mean, I could always ask OFI if I wanted, but I don't want to leave any trails that could lead back to people who know who we really are." She smiled at him and Dustil. "Besides, we're all of us intelligent people here. I'm sure we can figure it out, if anyone can."

"Shouldn't we ask Lady Versenne? Wouldn't she be more familiar with the local scene than us?" Dustil asked, not unreasonably.

"You've got a point there, son," Carth said, nodding.

Revan nodded. "Okay. But let's just take only the proof and the log about Khyrohn's suspicions about House Sayir. I don't want to give her anything else."

"She wouldn't use it!" Dustil said indignantly.

"_She_ might not, but that doesn't mean her father wouldn't," Carth interjected, a little amused at his son's quick defense of Lady Versenne's honor. "The situation on Sluis Van is volatile enough; we don't need to go sticking our fingers in it or stirring it up any more."

"And this," Revan waved a hand at the datapads, "would be like tossing a thermal detonator on open barrels of ship fuel, if we let Vosaryk have it all. Lord Vosaryk would have a field day if he got his hands on Khyrohn's own personal logs, especially the one that says he had plans to harm his daughter. Sometimes one can do as much or more damage by saying too much, as saying too little. Even the things we _are_ giving her can, in the right--or wrong--hands, be twisted around completely."

Carth watched Dustil begin to retort, then stop, visibly chewing on that thought as he nodded slowly. "I... I think I see," Dustil said.

Revan gathered the relevant data chips into a small data case, carefully nestling them into the shock-proof gel. "Are you two ready to go?" she asked Dustil and Carth.

Carth nodded, strapping on his blaster pistols after checking their power settings. Dustil gave Revan a thumbs-up.

"Are we going back to the Bazaar? If we are, I want to pick up a pair of earplugs first," Carth said, making sure his pouches were firmly secured.

"No, we'll meet her at the shipyard." Revan dropped her lightsabers into her hip pouches and slipped her slugthrower into her shoulder holster.

"The... shipyard?" Carth asked, puzzled at the choice of meeting place. "Why not at House Vosaryk?" he asked curiously.

"Because she's a _smart_ girl, and doesn't want us to be seen with her too often. The first time people will think it's because she wanted to reward us, but that's not going to hold water anymore. So she'll be at the shipyard because it's her turn to oversee operations there this month. We'll be there because we have legitimate business, since our ship is in the slip. We're there ostensibly to see how the work's progressing on her."

"And it'll just turn out to be an oh-so-happy coicidence that we run into each other, right?" Carth nodded understanding, making a face. "Have I told you how much I hate playing spy?" he asked mildly.

Revan smirked. "Several times, flyboy. Would you prefer being back in the thick of front line fighting?"

"Uh, no." Carth shook his head hastily. "I have to admit _not_ being blasted at is something I've grown very fond of."

"Then let's do our best to keep it that way." Revan headed for the door.

* * *

My next chapter, may, _may_, be delayed by a week or two; it's another Dustil chapter, and you know how difficult he is for me to write. I may put up an extra-long fic cookie on kotorfanfic if I do miss my self-imposed deadline.

I want to thank all you reviewers yet again for taking the time out to write your feedback to me; it's very much appreciated! I treasure all your constructive criticism, comments and suggestions. If people are interested, I have a, er, NC-17 rated Chapter 18. If you'd like to read it, send a private message to me either to xenzen on the BioWare forums, or on kotorfanfic. Oh, and please only if you're 18 and over. :)

Trunxluvr82190: Hey, haven't seen you reviewing in a while! And Dustil would send whoever suggested he'd be asking Revan for girl advice, not himself... :)

Queen Ame: Welcome! And thank you for the encouragement and your very kind words.

VMorticia: Hm, that power would be something all thieves would love. :) And I just _knew_ someone would pick up on Carth coming out of the closet, I just _knew_ it! :D And that mistake's been fixed, thanks to schmoopy.

schmoopy: Thanks, and glad you enjoyed that bit. ;) And thanks for helping me catch up those little mistakes.

Ceridan: Stealth is very much ignored in Star Wars games, yes. It'd be cool if they came out with one that ran along the lines of Deus Ex or Thief, or even Metal Gear Solid. And yes, walking about with Bastila on Taris when she must be on the Sith's Top 5 Most Wanted list was... weird. Swinging a lightsaber around, to boot. And you didn't need stealth for the rancor on Taris, or the droid on Korriban (that just needed a sound dampener, not a stealth generator per se). And Mission had her stealth generator confiscated, I thought, but I could be wrong.

gamorrean princess: Welcome to my humble little fic! And you're forgiven for overlooking as long as you review each and every chapter that comes out! :D Although I wouldn't exactly call my version of Dustil a 'great kid'...

Lunatic Pandora1: Glad you're enjoying!

Arrikazza: I'm not evil, I'm just drawn that way... ;) And if it didn't hold, it would make for a _much_ shorter fic...

Feza's twin: Yeah, I hope my Revan's turning out to be not too perfect... I try, the Force knows I try... :) As for Dustil and this new lord... not sayin' nothin', mhm...

icey cold: I actually got that 'hide on the ceiling' idea from an old, old Jackie Chan flick... :D And you know Revan only teased Carth like that to see him blush; the young lord's _way_ too young for her. As for Dustil and the lord, again, not sayin' nothing... And I've played and finished HotU, and it was kinda... eh, after KoTOR. KoTOR has spoiled me horribly! And get moving on your damn KoTOR fic, for crissakes!

sammie teufel: Well, here you go! And Dustil didn't say anything because Carth and Revan were whispering. I'll make sure he's in earshot in the future. ;) And I'm glad Lord Khyrohn was interesting to you, even in the brief glimpse I wrote of him. We'll see how much further I take him...


	39. Report

**Chapter 39: Report**

Revan stepped out of the shuttle, and handed the House Vosaryk Shipyards token to the waiting liveried guard at the client's entrance of the massive orbital shipyard. Dustil stepped out of the plush confines of the passenger area of the shuttle, Carth following after him. The guard punched up their information on the console he stood in front of, inserting the small disc into a data receptacle while keeping a wary eye on Carth, who was doing his best to look harmless. The console chimed, confirming their identities; the guard handed the token back with a respectful murmur of _Welcome to Vosaryk Shipyards, esteemed clients_, and passed them through the bay doors.

The shuttle was a free service provided to all Vosaryk Shipyards clients, something Revan had taken full advantage of. The ride up from the Transients Dome to the shipyards had been uneventful, though not boring. The skies over Sluis Van were filled with traffic, space stations and orbital docking facilities, providing Dustil with quite the entertainment, as he watched the ponderous dance of the spacecraft against the backdrop of the planet through the wide viewports. Carth and Revan had been equally enthralled with the view, which had made him feel better about gawking like a country bumpkin.

A Duros in House Vosaryk uniform was waiting to greet them inside an antechamber of sorts, beckoning them to follow. He opened the doors to reveal a huge, busy space.

Dustil looked up and around at the huge docking bay, where cargo shuttles from Sluis Van came and went with great rapidity. He hadn't seen this part of the shipyards on his first tour. This was the repair section of the shipyards, where all the ship repairs, as opposed to the building, took place. Through the huge viewscreens that looked out onto the yards he saw ships of all sizes, models and classes nestled into docking slips. Teams of yard dogs, construction droids and their equipment swarmed all over the massive craft like worker bees tending their queens.

Lights blinked on flying craft emblazoned with the Vosaryk logo, carrying equipment, ferrying personnel from one place to another, or tugging and chivvying ships onto and out of slips. There was no sound in the vacuum outside, but inside the massive space it was just as busy, droids and sentients of all species and races scurrying purposefully to and fro. Repulsorlift pallets loaded high with equipment and carefully secured with cables were pushed and pulled across the floor, looking like small, mobile hills among the crowds of employees. The intercom was always busy, calling out assignments, requests for workers and droids, directing traffic nonstop, a buzzing backdrop to the cacophony of hundreds of voices raised in conversation or shouting orders.

And that was just in this particular bay. This scene was probably being repeated throughout the entire yard. Dustil took in a breath of the metallic smells, full of the ozone of electronics, lubricant oil and other, less identifiable scents.

"I greet you, Captain, sirs," the Duros said, bowing, giving Carth the usual startled and wary look for his disguise that had become standard everywhere on Sluis Van. "Welcome to Vosaryk Shipyards."

For once Carth wasn't paying any attention to someone else's reaction to his scarred and thuggish appearance; he was too busy staring avidly out at the ships through the viewscreens. It took a nudge from Revan's elbow into his ribs to bring his attention back.

"Thanks," Revan said with a nod. "Is it always so busy here?" she asked conversationally.

The Duros waved a hand at them to follow. "Only in the repair wings and construction area, Captain. The research and development section is not always so frenetic, nor the testing areas," he replied amiably. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the bustle. "This way, please."

They followed him along the edge of the wall, so that they wouldn't bump into anyone or anything on their way. There were air speeders both for personnel and for cargo alongside the shuttles near the open side of the bay, but designed to work in vacuum. But the Duros instead led them to the opposite side, towards a large group of sentients waiting next to a sunken channel that ran the long length of the bay, appearing and disappearing into large open portals. Dustil was puzzled as to what its purpose was, until a train appeared out of the left, settling down quietly on repulsorlift generators once it had extended the length of the bay.

Some of the train cars were for passengers, as sentients disembarked and others who had been waiting impatiently boarded, while others, more like open-sided platforms, had both full and empty equipment pallets shoved off and others loaded.

The Duros rep directed them towards the head of the train, where they were apparently going to be ferried in VIP comfort. The car was lined with plush carpeting, lit pleasantly with lights that were much more mellow than the ones in the bay. There was even soft music playing, once the doors closed, shutting out the noise in the bay. The Duros waited for them to seat themselves on the rich, deep and comfortable benches lined on either side of the car before sitting across from them.

Dustil felt a bit grubby in these elegant surroundings. He looked around, seeing the holographic paintings alternating with viewscreens on the walls, and wondered if all of Vosaryk's clients were so well treated. They hadn't ridden this sort of transport on their previous tour; they had been taken from place to place instead in an air speeder.

"My name is Komet; please do not hesitate to ask if you have questions," the Duros said deferentially. "Would the esteemed clients wish refreshment?"

Revan raised her eyebrows at Carth and Dustil, who shook their heads. "No, thanks. So do all your clients receive such, ah, preferential treatment?" she asked delicately.

The Duros looked pained but amused. "We treat _all_ our clients with an equal and fair hand, Captain. There is no such thing as 'preferential treatment' at Vosaryk Shipyards. I cannot, of course, speak for the other Vosaryk businesses," he added with a disdainful sniff of someone who couldn't understand why anyone wouldn't want to work on starships.

Dustil grinned while Carth and Revan chuckled. The Vosaryk reps were clearly hired for their wit as well as for their abilities.

"We will arrive at the," the Duros consulted a datapad, "_Skydancer's_ slip in just a few moments."

Carth and Revan watched with interest as they stopped a couple of more times in docking bays that were identical to the one where they'd disembarked. Dustil amused himself with watching the workers and the equipment handlers.

They arrived finally in yet another docking bay, where the _Ebon Hawk_ sat in all its blue-and-white glory on the slip, side by side with another freighter--one with not nearly so pretty a paint job--and a small pleasure yacht. The _Hawk_ was being swarmed over and cosseted by several teams of yard dogs. Massive cables and umbilicals were attached to the underside. It looked like they had finished upgrading the top turret cannons, and were now working on adding the retractable belly turret. The new topside cannons gleamed with lethal sleekness in the light, the view bright and sharp here in the vacuum.

Dustil glanced at Carth, whose attention was riveted to the crews working on the turret. He looked like he wanted to ask for a pressure suit and go out to inspect the upgrades personally.

The Duros led them to the harried Aqualish foreman, who was directing all the operations in the entire section. The Duros and the Aqualish exchanged a few words, then the foreman waved a hand irritably, barking orders into a helmet that would not have looked out of place on a line combat troop commander.

An airlock seal was established with the _Ebon Hawk_; normally a ship being repaired or taking on new equipment needed only access to the hull, unless modifications and repairs were also needed to be made in the interior. It looked like they were in the process of installing the firing controls, computer and wiring for the new turret, given the speed with which the airlock tube was sealed.

Revan and Dustil stepped up to the airlock, waiting for the lights that signaled a good seal to turn green. She looked around for Carth, then puffed a laugh when she saw where he was. Dustil turned back.

Carth was poring over the plans they had for the belly turret on a datapad the Duros had helpfully procured for him, until Revan had to march over and drag him away to the airlock tube.

The Duros rejoined them. "The foreman tells me they are nearly finished with installing the belly turret and its accompanying controls, and will test both turrets tomorrow."

Revan and Carth both looked pleasantly surprised. "Already?" Revan asked. "It's only been, what, six days!"

"Indeed, yes. Orders have come from on high that your ship is to be moved to the most highest of priorities. We've even pulled some crews off from other projects to help expedite the work," the Duros explained.

Revan and Carth looked impressed at this announcement. The lights turned green, and the Duros left them at the airlock, assuring them that he would be on call as soon as they were finished.

They walked up the ramp, stepping carefully over thick cables that snaked up and into the ship. Dustil could feel the thuds and tremors of the crews working on the belly turret through the deckplates.

Everything in the _Hawk_ was open for access; the crews could get to everything but the sickbay, port and starboard crew quarters, which had been sealed with the best security systems Revan, Mission, HK-47 and T3-M4 could devise, and that was _very_ secure indeed. Although Carth had told him they'd had to firmly nix HK-47's suggestions for more lethal preventative measures, such as the thief immolation trap and the electrocution nets.

The inside of the _Ebon Hawk_ smelled musty and stagnant to him after being downside for so long, even though they'd been living, technically, in the similar enclosed environment of the Transients Dome, though on a much larger scale. Carth had climbed up to the top turret to inspect the work the crews had done, making alarming little growling noises while he was up there.

Revan rolled her eyes. "He's never as happy as when he's grubbing around in a starship." She sat down on a chair at the holo table, carefully avoiding wires and cables that ran across the floor towards the cockpit.

Dustil sat down across from her. "Oh, yeah. He used to tinker with our speeders and swoop bikes all the time, back on..." he trailed off awkwardly, remembering just whom he was speaking to. Just when he thought he'd put it to rest, his resentment and anger rose back up at moments like these. She reminded him just by _breathing_.

Revan coughed delicately, breaking the oppressive silence. "Yes. I remember him being both upset and happy at the same time when I wrecked the swoop twice. The one in the hotel hangar right now is the third one we got, did you know?"

Dustil's eyebrows flew up, finding himself successfully diverted from the awkward moment. "Wrecked? But why would he be happy about that?"

"Because I wrecked them winning the swoop racing championships on Tatooine and Manaan," she replied, her smile full of nostalgia. "He hadn't wanted me to race, you see, said it was too dangerous, but we needed the credits badly, especially on Tatooine, when the _Hawk_ got wrecked in a battle with some Sith fighters, and we had to ante up for repairs. And buy HK-47, to help translate our speech with the Sand People."

"And did you have any idea how much time and sweat I'd put into those swoops to make them as fast _and_ safe as possible? Or as safe as you can get when _you're_ racing," Carth said dryly, walking into the holo room from the turret. "And then you crashed them! We couldn't even salvage anything!"

Revan wrinkled her nose at Carth. "If you'd been any good at all at it, you would've known to strip out _all_ the safety features, so that I could get the most speed out of it."

"Right, and then see you go up in a ball of fire the minute you hit, oh, a rock, say," Carth retorted. "I left in too little as it was. And you _did_ go up in a ball of flame, but fortunately for you, it was _after_ you'd crossed the finish line."

Dustil tried to imagine the scene. "That must've made for a helluva pretty spectacular race."

"Oh, yeah. And the swoop jock having been wounded and short on blood the day before the race didn't exactly help calm my nerves," Carth muttered. "I think I've still got some holos of the Tatooine fiasco, if you want to see it, Dustil. It'd be a good lesson on how _not_ to drive a swoop."

"_Fiasco_!" Revan exclaimed indignantly. "You do remember how many credits you got out of it after all of our bets paid off, right? Besides, the blood loss might've improved my performance, who knows. The explosion certainly, ah, improved my time."

Dustil listened, fascinated. Apparently not all of the excitement on the quest for the Star Forge had been from combat. "I want to hear the whole story, someday."

"What's there to tell? Carth souped up my swoop--though not nearly as much as I would've liked--I flew it, swoop went boom, I won. End of story," Revan said, dismissing all the other minor details with an expansive wave of her arm.

"Uh-huh. I'm wondering if your _brain_ got enough blood that day," Carth quipped, shaking his head. "And _I_ seem to remember shots being fired, being knocked down, you getting hit and carrying you to the sickbay. _Again_."

"Piffle. Mere details," Revan said airily, waving the 'mere details' away irritably.

Carth looked at his chrono. "So when and where are we supposed to meet Lady Versenne?" he asked, getting the conversation back on track.

"Here," Revan replied, and looked at her own chrono. "Any minute now."

Dustil's brows rose. _Here?_ "I thought this visit was supposed to be secret, or something. Aren't the crews going to see her?"

"I doubt it. They're much too busy, for one thing. And you saw how distracted the foreman was. No one will be paying attention. I bet she knows all the nooks and crannies on a shipyard like this. Besides, who's going to suspect the Heiress of House Vosaryk to be paying a personal visit to the grubby repair yards, and coming aboard an equally-grubby freighter?"

"'s not grubby!" Carth said indignantly.

Dustil grinned. His father had insisted on cleaning the entire ship, from bow to stern, to a military-approved shine before docking her onto the repair slip. So as not to embarrass themselves in front of the crews who had to board her to make installations, or some such thing.

"You know what I mean," Revan said placatingly.

Carth sniffed, faintly offended.

The communicator on the holo table beeped, the light for the intercom blinking. Revan leaned forward and pressed the receive key. "Nami Kera'al, _Skydancer_."

"Versenne Vosaryk. Permission to come aboard, Captain," a melodious voice said tinnily from the speaker. Dustil felt his palms begin to sweat at the sound. _Get a grip. It's only Ver--Lady Versenne. You weren't this nervous in the sewers._

"Permission granted. Hang a right up the ramp," Revan replied.

"Thank you."

Revan released the key, raising an eyebrow. "Huh. She didn't use her title. That's rather... telling."

"She doesn't want us to stand on ceremony, I guess," Carth remarked approvingly.

They all rose in anticipation of greeting their guest. To no one's surprise, Bospho, Lady Versenne's huge bodyguard, was the first to enter the room.

Bospho ducked his head at them, looking patently unhappy. "My apologies, Captain, gentlemen," he said, not sounding very apologetic at all, "but I must conduct a sweep of the premises before I can allow m'Lady to board your... ship."

It was amazing how such a small pause could contain such a world of disdain. Dustil saw Carth stiffen out of the corner of his eye at the implied insult, his emerald eyes flashing. Revan just looked amused, both at Bospho's tone and at Carth's reaction.

Bospho looked more unhappy at the fact that Lady Versenne had to come at all, and to such a place, than offending them. He hadn't missed the weapons at their sides, either, which couldn't have improved his temper.

Revan opened a palm amiably, granting permission. Bospho ducked his head again, and went off towards the swoop hangar to begin his sweep.

Dustil blinked. There was a slight shimmer in the air, and did he imagine that their speech with Bospho had had a certain... underwater quality to it? As if he were trying to talk and listen under several fathoms of ocean. That shimmer was making his eyes hurt and cross themselves, as he tried to focus on it.

"It's being caused by a white noise generator, Stiller, one with a fairly-large radius," Revan said, seeing his difficulty. "It's used to foil eavesdroppers and fool recording equipment."

"Ah," Dustil said, enlightened. The knowledge made the strange effects easier to bear, at least.

"A professional paranoiac after your own heart, eh, Nasi?" Revan drawled quietly at Carth, elbowing him gently in the ribs.

Carth smirked and snorted. "At least _his_ charge doesn't pull crazy stunts. Like pushing people off a ledge from several hundred stories up. Or wrecking swoop bikes, racing like a maniac," he muttered.

Revan stuck her tongue out at Carth, whose lips twitched. "That you know of, anyway," she murmured.

Dustil shook his head, feeling a bit ashamed that he hated them for their ease with each other, and hating himself for feeling that shame. His emotions and feelings twisted around each other, like the mythical ouroboros eating its own tail. He wondered if he would ever feel at peace with this. With them. Some days he wished he could just wash his hands of them, walk off and never look back.

And some days... some days he wished, with a desperate fervor that shocked and surprised him, that he was there, with them, sharing in that ease.

But then one considered who they were. Carth Onasi, the father he hardly knew. Revan, the woman who had created the fleet that bombed Telos, killing his mother in the process.

_Impossible_.

There was no doubt but that this was one of the reasons he was here with them. So that he couldn't run away. Carth wouldn't have thought of it, but he wouldn't put it past Revan.

His darkening thoughts were interrupted when Lady Versenne appeared at the circular entryway, Bospho following faithfully at her back. She walked into the utilitarian, undecorated holo room like a queen stepping foot into her throne room, all the more elegant and graceful for being unfeigned and unforced.

Lady Versenne wore a more sensible version of her robes, but they were no less rich and beautiful. They resembled Jedi robes in their practicality, but no Jedi robes he'd ever seen had gold and silver thread woven into geometric designs on her dark blue sleeves, running down her front and tucked into her belt, extending down like a tunic. A long vest-cloak of a lighter shade of blue covered her robes, falling in heavy ripples of fabric, brushing the backs of her knees. Her short black boots shone in the light.

Lady Versenne smiled. "It is good to see you again, Captain." She bowed her head a fraction at her and Carth, her smile growing infinitesimally wider when her eyes alighted on him. Dustil hoped that wasn't just his imagination. "Please excuse my imposition upon your time."

Revan bowed, deliberately awkward. "Hardly, Lady. You are, after all, our employer." Bospho looked sour at that, something Revan didn't miss. "Please be seated," she said obsequiously, waving an arm out at a chair with a bit of slightly-overdone panache that made the polite gesture border on mockery. For the express purpose of twitting Bospho, Dustil was sure.

Lady Versenne's eyes brightened with an ironic glint, alive to every nuance, while Bospho's brows lowered, as if he were not quite sure what to make of this humor, and was frustrated at not being able to put the disrespectful offworlder smuggler in her place.

Carth rolled his eyes at Dustil, who had to keep his face straight. Lady Versenne sat, and waved one hand at them, bidding them to sit. He, Revan and Carth sat back down, but Bospho remained standing a little behind Lady Versenne, a disgruntled guardian statue.

"Isn't your security detail a little, ah, brief? My Lady," Revan commented delicately. "I must admit, I was expecting at least six of your most humorless guards to be here, giving us dirty looks all the while," she added dryly.

"I am within the sacrosanct confines of Vosaryk Shipyards. If I am not safe here, I am not safe anywhere," Lady Versenne said serenely. Bospho rolled his eyes, perhaps praying to his deities silently for patience, but said nothing. Dustil had no doubt they'd had quite the argument before ever arriving here. It was clear just whom had won.

Revan shrugged, then passed the data case to Lady Versenne, who took it and handed it to Bospho. Bospho cracked it open eagerly, the first pleased smile Dustil had ever seen on the man cracking his craggy visage.

"I heard that House Khyrohn is in quite the uproar today," Lady Versenne remarked conversationally, while she waited for her bodyguard's report.

Revan smiled innocently. "Are they?"

"Yes. Apparently their computer security was compromised in some... embarrassing fashion. The most reputable computer security firm on Sluis Van has had a contract drawn up just today for its services," Lady Versenne said, in the same mild tone as one might speak of the weather.

"Really?" Revan said brightly. "They would do better to contract for better sanitation engineers," she said slyly.

Lady Versenne's eyes crinkled. "I see. And did you have much trouble obtaining the information?" she asked more seriously. "I... did not hear of any deaths surrounding the incident. For which I am most grateful."

"No one was hurt. Badly," Revan said cheerfully. "And we didn't have any trouble at all."

Dustil suppressed a snort at that. As if she hadn't tripped a computer tell-tale, making it necessary for them to plunge several miles down a dark lift shaft, with nothing but a piece of elastic cord between them and certain death as smears at the bottom.

Bospho coughed, giving the three of them a grudgingly-admiring look. "M'Lady. This is it." He handed a datapad to Lady Versenne.

Lady Versenne skimmed rapidly through the text. "Indeed," she breathed. Her face lit with hope, taking Dustil's breath away. "This is, indeed, it!" She looked up. "Thank you. This will stop my father's declaration of _kersai_ right in its tracks."

Revan smiled. "I'm glad. It's what you paid us for, after all." She turned more serious. "I'm afraid that, while this information eliminates one House from your no doubt extremely long list of suspects, it does mean the real culprit is still out there. Perhaps making more plans--more _effective_ plans--to harm you. I've also enclosed Lord Khyrohn's speculations on House Sayir that he made both in his logs and in a conversation we overheard."

"House Sayir, you say?" Lady Versenne looked thoughtful, eyes sharpening. Bospho handed her the datapad with the relevant information.

"Is it a possibility?" Revan asked.

Lady Versenne waved a frustrated hand. "House Sayir is on our list, because it is one of the more powerful Houses that would have both the means and motivation, neither higher nor lower in our suspicions than any of our other suspects on the list. At this time."

Bospho coughed. Lady Versenne waved, a little impatiently, for him to speak. "I've been following up on House Sayir, as well. Or rather," he looked sheepish, "trying to. It seems Lord Khyrohn's agents have had as much luck as I, which is to say, none at all."

"What do we have on House Sayir presently?" Lady Versenne prompted.

"They have recently been hiring mercenaries. Mercenaries that enter the Sayir compound, but do not come back out. Otherwise questioning them would making finding out what Sayir is up to much less difficult. So far, none of my agents have been able to infiltrate Sayir as a mercenary; they have an uncanny knack for spotting our people. Presumably, Khyrohn's agents have not succeeded with this tactic either."

"Mercenaries that go in but don't come back out?" Revan repeated, eyebrow raised. "Don't you find that a bit... strange? Sinister, even?"

Bospho shrugged. "They are only offworlder mercenaries, not Sluis Van citizens. And every House has its secrets. It is possible Sayir shipped them all off in secret to a concealed location. I doubt they bring them in just to kill them."

Dustil noticed Carth raising his eyebrows at this rather lukewarm concern, but he said nothing.

Revan looked just as dubious at this scenario. "Doesn't it intrigue you at all?"

Bospho gave her an extremely dry look. "Of course it does. Why do you think I've been trying to have my agents infiltrate them? Without any notable success, as I said before," he grumped.

Lady Versenne looked struck by a notion. She leaned forward, regarding Revan with sharpened interest. "Perhaps we are using the wrong agents, Bospho."

Bospho looked at Revan, then back down at Lady Versenne, a growing look of horror and surmise on his face. "You can't be serious, m'Lady!"

Lady Versenne tilted her head. "Why not? Did they not succeed beyond our wildest imaginings in retrieving proof from House Khyrohn?"

Bospho opened his mouth, then closed it, defeated. His sour look came back with a vengeance.

Revan's face was a picture of smug victory. "You could put us on retainer," she purred. "We could always use the credits, and we specialize in such... maverick operations," she said, with a completely straight face.

_Maverick_ was not the word Dustil would've chosen to describe their 'operations'.

Lady Versenne nodded. "An excellent idea. Very well."

Bospho looked pained, but took out a datapad in preparation for the negotiations.

Revan and Lady Versenne haggled good-naturedly over the size of the retainer, Lady Versenne's mood lightened considerably by the proof they'd given her, but settled it after a few moments. A contract was drawn up and signed, then and there.

Dustil glanced at his father; Carth didn't look particularly upset at Revan's unilateral decision. If anything, Carth looked a little amused, especially during the haggling.

Dustil was... glad to see that this would not be the last he--they--would see of Lady Versenne, so he certainly wasn't about to argue. If only there weren't such a surfeit of company around...

"Have you noticed Sayir's profits for the last five years have remained steady?" Revan was asking.

"I have," Lady Versenne said, nodding. She twirled a lock of her hair around a finger thoughtfully. "Do you think this is significant? Profit and revenue plateaus are not all that uncommon. There are other companies offworld that specialize in the same industry, after all, such as Czerka and Aratech, providing plenty of competition."

Revan looked skeptical. "But during a recent war? A House specializing in weapons _not_ making huge profits when Sluis Van is such a large supplier to the Republic?"

"You have a point. It does bear thinking on, but I'm not sure it has anything to do with the recent attempt on m'Lady," Bospho rumbled.

Revan sat back, face neutral. Dustil could tell she was frustrated that they were not taking her seriously. And she couldn't tell them it was Jedi intuition, since that would blow her cover.

"This might be part of a larger pattern," Carth said, startling Lady Versenne and Bospho.

It was the first time either of them had heard Carth speak in their company. Maybe they thought he never spoke, or, more likely, they thought someone who looked like a thug thought and spoke like one.

Carth managed to keep his face straight; only a gleam of irony in his eyes and a certain crook to his lip, on the side pulled up by the fake scar, betrayed his amusement at their reaction.

Lady Versenne regained her composure quickly, once more cool and reserved. "Perhaps. But I must concentrate my resources and time on removing this charge of _kersai_. I am afraid that matter must take the greatest precedence. Bospho will send you the relevant data on Sayir, all that we have."

Revan looked like she was suppressing a deep, resigned sigh, but her neutral expression was firmly fixed in place. Carth shrugged at her, _I did my best, sorry_.

It was strange to Dustil that, for all their cosmopolitanism and sophistication, the Houses, if Vosaryk was any example, were so provincial and narrow-minded in certain areas. It must be something specific to the Houses, this attitude of leaving each House to its own. He wondered if someone had known of that weakness, and was exploiting it...

Lady Versenne smiled. "I thank you once again, for bringing to me this proof. You may well have saved both my House _and_ House Khyrohn. Our Houses may be business rivals, perhaps even bitter ones, but _kersai_ is not the way to settle our differences." She slid a small datapad towards Revan. "If you find out what is going on in House Sayir, please send your reports to me at the com address I've enclosed on this pad. The security computer I gave you has a built-in encrypted communications capability, with all the House Vosaryk protocols, which should suffice to keep your messages secure. Use it to contact me as needed."

Revan took the datapad and slipped it into one of her vest pockets. "We'll get right on it."

"If there is nothing else, I must return to my duties. Routine, but a busy shipyard such as ours generates a great deal of paperwork," Lady Versenne said apologetically, and rose from her seat, prompting them to rise also.

Bospho coughed again. "M'Lady, I'm afraid I have something I must say first before we may leave." Lady Versenne cocked an eyebrow at him questioningly, a little surprised.

The mountainous bodyguard turned to face Revan. "I feel I must... apologize, Captain," he said, his words sounding as if they were being pulled from him with pliers, "I confess that I had great doubts as to your abilities, and those of your crew, to pull this off. That m'Lady holds the tangible proof of your labors in her hands demonstrates just how wrong my assumptions were."

Revan smiled, a genuine smile this time, with nothing of mockery in it. The craggy, harsh planes of Bospho's face softened slightly in response; it was clear the bodyguard was not entirely proof against the Revan Effect. "Ah, well, you had no way of knowing we were trustworthy or up to the task, after all," she said warmly. "The ability to take down kidnappers without killing them does not, necessarily, translate into an equal skill with covert intelligence-gathering ops, after all."

Bospho looked shamefaced. "I'm afraid my doubts went further than that. To be frank, I had every expectation you would take the payment m'Lady had made into your account, and fly off without even making the effort to accomplish the task. For which assumption I must make my most profuse apologies." He finished with a deep bow to Revan, pivoting slightly on his heels to include Dustil and Carth.

"Apology accepted," Revan said seriously. "But it seems to me the one you should really be apologizing to is your Lady," she added. "We are untrustworthy smugglers--we expect such reactions, but you just admitted you didn't trust her judgement."

"For which it would be entirely unnecessary," Lady Versenne said firmly. Bospho opened his mouth, but she raised a hand, halting whatever Bospho had been about to say. "Bospho, one of the reasons I keep you by my side is not only for your ability to protect me, but also for your willingness to be honest with me about your opinions. The galaxy is full of yes-men. _I_ need those I trust to be unafraid to tell me 'no', if necessary, to my face, with valid and reasoned arguments to back them up. Such people are, indeed, rare." She smiled.

Bospho's face softened still further as he looked down fondly at his charge. Dustil was quite sure the man would be quite willing to kill for Lady Versenne, and die, gladly, for her.

Lady Versenne inclined her head to them in farewell, sparing a bright smile especially for Dustil, though that was probably just wishful thinking on his part. Bospho waited for Lady Versenne to precede him, protecting her back, giving them his own curt but respectful nod before following.

The sense of being underwater left with Bospho's departure, for which Dustil could only be grateful. Sounds returned normally to his ears, as if he had just breached the surface of the ocean after a much-too-long stay in the dark depths. He half-expected his ears to pop.

"Well. Wasn't _that_ interesting," Revan remarked thoughtfully, looking towards the corridor Lady Versenne had left by.

"I'll say," Carth said. "She's not the wealthy, spoiled scion I expected, the first time we met her when she was fully conscious, I gotta say." He looked at Revan. "What do you think, beautiful?"

"I think Sluis Van had better watch out when the Heiress of House Vosaryk becomes Lady Vosaryk. She's a formidable young lady, for all her youth," Revan replied.

I _certainly think so_, Dustil thought, but did not say aloud.

"So, flyboy, you finished poking around here yet?" Revan asked Carth.

"There's not much I _can_ do but 'poke around'," Carth retorted. "The cockpit's a mess right now, but it looks like they've left the firing controls for the top turret alone. We'll see how well the new cannons work when we get her back, take her out on a few maneuvers." He looked over at Dustil. "What do you say, son?"

"Sure, but what about this new assignment?" Dustil asked.

"We'll talk about it when we get back," Revan cautioned, finger held to her lips.

"We might as well get going, then," Carth said reluctantly.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to crawl around under the deckplates, checking the wiring or something?" Revan asked teasingly.

"I'd love to, but since they're probably in the middle of installation, I'll either get electrocuted, or have the crew chiefs come down on me like a ton of permacrete for messing around with their work," Carth replied dryly.

"Then let's get back. We've got plans to make!" Revan said, clapping her hands together loudly, rubbing them gleefully. She headed off towards the ramp.

"Is it just me, Father, or does she make you _really_ uncomfortable when she looks like that?" Dustil asked as he walked together with Carth after her.

"You have no idea, son," Carth replied with a long-suffering sigh, patting him on the shoulder. "Our only consolation is that she'll make anyone standing in her way even _more_ 'uncomfortable'. If that's the right word."

* * *

Whew! Looks like I got this chapter up in time after all! Thanks for all your lovely reviews, although you people who have me on your author alert list are still disconcertingly silent...

Feza: Carth is, indeed, buff. Too bad he had to wear his armor doing it, eh? :D Dustil has gone beyond merely _trying_ to hijack my story... he already has!

Lunatic Pandora1: 'The Hulk mode'... argh, now I'm picturing Carth in nothing but ripped pants... Oh my. I haven't played Thief, no. I get motionsick playing FPS games, alas, but my friends all tell me it rocked their socks off, except for the jumping.

Ceridan: You'll just have to stay tuned. And I'm _sure_ you'll be able to make the time to read my new chapters. :)

VMorticia: You like the ride, huh? It probably wasn't as fun for Carth and Dustil, who didn't have any safety harness at all... And Carth wasn't worried about Dustil's trick with the guards, more like sad. Glad you liked my ass-covering answer. :) Dustil's 'Sithyness' will make some reappearances, not to worry.

gamorrean princess: Nope, turns out I turned this out in time to feed your addiction! No, my memory of Jackie Chan on the ceiling was from an old, old movie, when he still did all his own stunts, not like this watered-down crap he's doing nowadays. Years ago. So old I can't even remember the title.

Prisoner 24601: You're making me blush. :) Thank you for your very kind words. Action is good, huh? I've been itching to do some action for several chapters, so I'm glad you liked the result. And yeah, Carth knows Dustil isn't all that, hm, innocent anymore, a cause of guilt and sadness for him as a father, the poor guy.

icey cold: Carth didn't say it, he thought it. But I'm glad you laughed. :) And yes, politics is, indeed, a dirty business. Intergalactic politics is probably just as dirty and cutthroat, but we just don't see it since none of the Jedi are politicians. And making it easy for the intrepid trio would make for a boring fic, no? And I liked HotU, I did! Compared to the original plots for NWN and SoU, it was great! But compared to KoTOR, the lack of close-ups and expressions and full voice acting for all lines made it kinda eh.


	40. Arrangements

**Chapter 40: Arrangements**

Revan, Carth and Dustil sat around the table in their hotel suite once more, their mugs of caffa scattered amongst piles of printouts, data chips and datapads. It looked like a lot, but actual information on Sayir's current operations was rather scanty. Carth hated having so little intelligence to go on.

"I think going in as a hired mercenary is the only way to get into House Sayir," Revan said, looking at the messy pile of printouts of the data Bospho had given them. She leaned back on the couch next to Carth. "You'd think someone as competent as Bospho or Lord Khyrohn would've found out more than this by now."

"Strange how the Houses leave each other alone like that, isn't it?" Dustil mused thoughtfully.

Carth raised his eyebrows in polite disagreement. "I wouldn't call kidnapping Lord Vosaryk's daughter to distract him from business affairs leaving each other alone, son."

Dustil shook his head, visibly groping for words. "No, I mean... isn't it weird no one's looked harder at House Sayir's profits or that the mercenaries they've been hiring never come back out?"

"I think I see what you mean, Dustil," Revan said. "The Houses are curiously _in_curious about what goes on in each House. A sort of respect for House secrets, even if they don't respect the House, if you follow."

"You mean like they don't care what they're up to inside their own Houses, except when it affects them?" Carth asked speculatively. "It's a strange blind spot."

"Maybe someone's counting on that, and whoever it is is pulling the right strings, Father," Dustil said. "I mean, manipulating the Houses into fighting each other would be a lot easier than fighting them head-on by themselves. No one knows they're doing it, so there's no risk to them. And taking down a House declared in _kersai_ would mean nothing's damaged too badly, and nobody would be able to tell if it'd been done by the other House or by someone else."

"You mean you think someone's behind all this? Like the Sith, maybe?" Carth asked, cocking an eyebrow. Dustil nodded.

"Dustil's right. It would explain how things... feel like they're coming to some kind of head," Revan said, nodding at Dustil. "You had the same thought yourself, Carth."

"I did, but I thought the Sith might be working _for_ a House, not against them," Carth corrected. He was left feeling uncomfortable again at the way Dustil was thinking. Sith Manipulation 101? Dustil sounded like he had gotten high marks in that. _He's learned some brutal lessons already, and survived them_, Revan had said. He tried to tell himself that innocence in this galaxy was a danger and a hindrance, especially for someone training to be a Jedi, but that didn't make him feel any less guilty about his son's lost childhood.

"That may be the case, too," Revan said, shrugging. "Not all Sith are created equal. Some may have thrown in with a House, seeing which way the wind is blowing these days. Some may have remained loyal. The trick is telling which is which."

Carth sighed. "Why do I get the feeling we may be getting in over our heads? Do we have any backup of any sort here? Can we call on the embassy, assuming there is one?"

Revan shook her head ruefully. "I'm afraid not. At least, you can't march up to the desk and expect to be put through to the ambassador. More likely you'll be given the runaround to different attachés and bureaucrats before you'll ever see anyone of any importance. Assuming you're not buried beneath a mountain of red tape and paperwork. Not unless we blow our cover."

"Well, damn," Carth said, a little appalled at their lack of choices. "What about OFI?"

"Same issue. And if there are any other Republic covert ops teams around, I don't know any, and even if I did, I don't know any recognition passcodes or phrases for them, or the locations of any safehouses." Revan opened her palms helplessly. "It's unlikely there'd be any covert ops teams from the Republic here, anyway, since Sluis Van is a firm Republic ally, not a planet behind enemy lines. _Sith_ covert ops, on the other hand..."

"Wait, we're covert ops now?" Dustil asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Uh, more like irregulars, son. Those twitchy spooks at OFI would have fits if they thought we were suddenly a covert ops team, or thought of ourselves as one," Carth said, shaking his head. His mind boggled at the thought of a covert ops team consisting of himself, a former Sith teenager and the former Dark Lord of the Sith. _Irregular_ was a vast understatement.

"You've got no room to talk about twitchy spooks, Carth," Revan said, grinning.

Carth wrinkled his nose at her. "Quiet, you."

Revan grinned. "I wonder what OFI is making of all this, not to mention Republic Intelligence," she said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, you've got to wonder what's keeping them. OFI and RI are usually on the ball about this stuff," Carth said.

"I imagine it's because the Houses are so insular. It must be incredibly difficult, if not nearly impossible, to infiltrate such close-knit families, when their retainers have probably served them for generations. _We_ only saw so much of House Vosaryk because of our chance encounter with Lady Versenne, and her deciding to hire us," Revan said to the air, as she clasped her hands behind her head and looked up at the ceiling.

"I'd feel better if we had someone for backup, beautiful. Are you sure we can't talk to OFI about this?" Carth asked.

"There _is_ one way, but things would have to be pretty bloody dire for me to use that particular card," Revan said, shaking her head. "And no, I'm not going to tell you."

"Why not?" Carth demanded. "Is it that secret?"

"What can I say? Your paranoia's rubbed off on me," Revan replied with a shrug.

Carth threw a cushion at her, which she caught, laughing, before it could hit her in the face. Dustil's lips quirked. "Alright, fine. I'll... interrogate you later," Carth said, trying sound menacing, and failing utterly. He continued more seriously, "But what can we do about this blind spot of theirs? That bodyguard of hers doesn't seem to hold us in any special regard. I mean, sure, he apologized for being a prick, but he doesn't seem inclined to listen to us."

"It's hard to blame Bospho for being a bit... peeved with us. I mean, we managed to do what he couldn't. We were able to infiltrate House Khyrohn and get the proof, not him," Revan said.

"I don't think _anyone_ could've done it without your Jedi powers, beautiful," Carth said. "You saw how many defenses they had. I doubt a squad of elite commandos could've gotten in and out without tripping any alarms. Or killing any guards."

"I still tripped a tell-tale," Revan corrected.

"The first thing I learned as a soldier is that no plan survives contact with the opponent." Carth shrugged. "We still did pretty good for our first paid assignment. Now we just have to figure out how to go about accomplishing the second."

"So how are we going to get into Sayir?" Dustil asked.

"They're going to be on their guard and locked up tight since rumors have circulated that House Khyrohn was broken into," Revan said, a trifle smugly. "So the only other avenues open to us is for someone to go in as a mercenary."

"I could do that," Carth said quietly.

Revan grew still. Dustil looked up from his datapad, aware of the sudden tension in the air. "By yourself?" Dustil asked with faint incredulity. "What about us?"

"Carth would be perfect," Revan said, but she didn't sound at all happy about it. "We can't go with him, either. First, they'd be suspicious; mercenaries usually work alone, those that don't hire out as a group. Second, we neither of us look like mercenaries, Dustil."

Carth looked up at Revan and Dustil, both of whom sported identical expressions of disgruntlement. It was actually pretty funny, but he didn't dare laugh.

Dustil looked a little outraged, only slightly mollified that Revan had included herself. "What do you mean, I don't look like a mercenary?"

Carth coughed. "For one thing, son, mercenaries are usually a bit... older. At least, the successful, experienced ones survive to get old," he put in. "You're, uh, a bit too young. It's not just a matter of carrying weapons and looking tough."

"And I look more like a mercenary's," Revan coughed, "_companion_ than a mercenary."

"You can be _my_ 'companion' any day, beautiful," Carth said with a smirk. Dustil rolled his eyes.

Revan's eyes crinkled, but she still didn't look happy. "I wish Canderous hadn't gone off after the celebrations. You'd have absolutely no one to watch your back, Carth," she said worriedly.

"Heh, with Canderous, one can never really tell just whose back needs watching by whom," Carth muttered.

"Now, now, be fair," Revan admonished. "There are few enough people in the galaxy you'd trust at your back, and you know Canderous is one of them."

"Alright, alright! You're right, but he's not here." Carth wrapped his arm around her waist. "Don't worry about me. I _can_ take care of myself, you know. Believe it or not, I can actually put my boots on all by myself."

Revan's lips twitched; Dustil snickered. "You know that's not what I meant," Revan said quellingly, poking her finger into Carth's ribs. She sighed. "Still, I don't see any other alternative."

"Father," Dustil interjected, "if the mercenaries House Sayir has been hiring go in but don't come back out, how're you going to escape?"

Carth scratched his chin, rubbing his whiskers thoughtfully. "Well, we don't have enough to go on to even speculate about it. I guess I'll have to see what I can come up with once I'm inside." He smiled at Dustil, who looked a bit worried. His son was worried for him, something which just warmed his heart. "Don't worry, son, I've been in worse spots."

"Now where have I heard _that_ before?" Revan muttered dryly.

Carth grinned. "Hey, it could be worse. I _could_ be stranded on a hostile planet that's been quarantined by the Sith, with nothing but the clothes on my back, a pair of blasters and a few credits." Revan rolled her eyes at him.

Dustil chewed his lip. "Are you sure I can't go? I don't have to be another mercenary. I could be your, uh, servant or something." Distaste at the thought of wearing such a menial disguise warred with his eagerness to participate in the operation in some way on his face.

Carth shook his head. "Sorry, son. If I'm going to play the role of a down-on-his-luck mercenary--the kind I think Sayir is hiring--I can't have an entourage."

Revan coughed delicately. "Besides, your relationship might be... misconstrued."

Carth felt his face heat. Dustil looked puzzled for a moment before his faced cleared up, only to redden to the roots of his blond hair.

"Uh, right," Carth said after a moment, while everyone contemplated the hypothetical complications and its no doubt hilarious results. Just how hilarious, and to whom, was obvious. Revan was laughing at both of them with a completely straight face, he was sure of it.

Revan looked Carth over. "I'll draw up another set of identity papers for you. House Vosaryk should be able to help me contrive some convincing circumstances and history for you, not to mention doctoring logs and records for me. I think you'd better be an ex-soldier turned mercenary or bounty hunter. Like Mission said a long time and a lifetime ago, you walk and act like a military man, and there's no way for you to hide those unconscious mannerisms."

Carth rubbed the back of his neck a little sheepishly. "I guess I still act like a soldier even though I'm retired."

Revan shrugged. "It's not necessarily a bad thing, Carth. They'll know you've got experience, and it'll lend your story a great deal of credibility." She eyed him sternly. "And you wouldn't have to lie about it, which is good, because you're a damn poor liar."

"What? I am _not_!" Carth exclaimed indignantly. He glowered at Dustil, who was either laughing or smirking at him from behind his hand.

"You _are_," Revan said firmly. "You're _still_ the straitlaced, straightforward, upstanding Republic officer I met all those months and a lifetime ago, Carth."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Carth muttered. _Straitlaced?!_ She'd called him that a long time ago, and she thought he was _still_ straitlaced? _I'm gonna get you back for that, beautiful, just you wait._

"Well, it is if you're going undercover, isn't it?" Dustil put in, sounding extremely skeptical.

"Ah, well. The best lies have some small kernel of truth in them, after all," Revan said philosophically. "Your face is too open with your feelings and emotions, even with a disguise, which is why I said you're a terrible liar. Which, again, may not be a bad thing."

"I think I'm being damned with faint praise, but alright," Carth said dryly.

"You know I didn't mean it like that," Revan said, shaking her head. "Well, we still have some time before us. I need to talk with Bospho about arrangements and draw up your papers. And tonight you're going to be in for some more 'cosmetic treatments', flyboy." She perked up at that.

Carth groaned loudly. Sitting still for several hours straight while having his face attacked with cosmetic goop that itched terribly was _not_ his idea of a good time. "I can't believe I volunteered for this!" he moaned.

Dustil looked sympathetic. "I forgot about that part. I think I'll pass," he said, sounding suspiciously relieved, like one who had inadvertently escaped a trap by the skin of his teeth.

Revan sniffed. "You two just don't appreciate my artistry. My genius!" she exclaimed, pressing one limp wrist theatrically to her forehead, in a gesture of someone much put-upon by ignorant savages.

Carth reached out and tickled her. She yipped in surprise and squirmed away laughing, nearly falling off the couch. Dustil's lips twitched up in an involuntary grin.

Revan scooted to the other side of the couch, out of reach, and attempted to regain her composure and dignity. "Anyway, while I'm working on your documents, you two should go and pack up our stuff."

"Pack up? Why? I thought we were staying here another week," Dustil said, surprised.

"You're thinking of moving us back onto the _Hawk_?" Carth asked.

Revan nodded. "They'll have everything finished on the _Hawk_ in another couple of days, three at the most. We can take her out and move all our stuff back in then."

"Are you anticipating trouble?" Carth asked, frowning. "Not that I mind going back to the ship," he added hastily.

"No, not really. It's just that I feel safer on the ship. It's been home to me for, well, months, after all. And it's a more secure environment than our hotel. If things go fruit-shaped, we'll have control of our own air and transport, and outrun any trouble if necessary. But we should leave the countersurveillance devices alone until the last minute."

Dustil looked a little put out that they were cutting their stay downside short, but didn't protest.

"Sorry, Dustil," Carth said apologetically. "I was hoping we'd get to have some fun here for a couple of weeks."

Dustil's eyebrows flew up in polite surprise, as if asking what nature of 'fun' Carth had had in mind. "It's okay. You're not the one who landed us into Sluis Van politics. And I did volunteer."

"Right, _I'm_ the one who landed us into it," Revan corrected. "So far, our working vacation has been more work than vacation," she said ruefully.

Dustil shook his head. "Nah, I don't mind. Really. Father said this trip was gonna be boring, but so far, it's been really... interesting."

Carth grimaced. "'Interesting' isn't how I'd want to describe this trip so far. I was hoping to take you around to see the sights, visit some museums or something."

Dustil's face twisted into a comical expression of disbelief and faint outrage. "Museums?" he said, in the same incredulous tone as one might say 'compost heaps'.

"I think Carth has the right idea, but the plan perhaps leaves little to be desired," Revan said diplomatically.

Carth still glowered at her. "What's wrong with museums?" he asked, a little hurt. "You can learn a lot in museums!"

"Yeah, Father. I just learned that your idea of fun isn't exactly up to date," Dustil retorted. "Museums!" he muttered under his breath.

"But it'd be safe!" Carth said, grasping at the one straw he was certain of.

"I think Dustil will learn a lot more about politics and people doing what we've been doing than he ever will from any sort of museum, Carth," Revan said, not unsympathetically.

Carth resisted the urge to wail _But it'd be safe!_ again. The last thing he wanted was Dustil getting angry about being overprotected. He settled for sighing deeply. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. But the shipyard was pretty neat, wasn't it? And the Bazaar?"

Dustil nodded. "Okay, you're right, the shipyard and the Bazaar were really cool. But I don't think these museums you're talking about are as, um, interesting."

Carth scratched the side of his nose. "Probably not." He resisted the urge to add, _That's the idea_.

Dustil rose and headed for his suite. "I'm gonna go pack up."

"It _would_ be nice to be able to see the floor in your suite again," Carth agreed mildly. Dustil, to Carth's chagrin, shared the same messy habits as Revan. Dustil shrugged, looking a little embarrassed, and retreated.

Carth slid over to Revan's end of the couch, wrapping his arm around her again. "Do you think you'll be able to survive a few days alone with Dustil?" he asked seriously.

Revan leaned her head on his shoulder. "I faced Bastila alone and bested her. I fought Malak in single combat and survived. What's one broody teenager with Force powers to me?" she asked lightly. She looked down at her hands, curled on his.

Carth wasn't fooled. He raised her chin with his other hand. "He also tried to kill you, once." He hadn't been as blithe about it as he'd led Dustil to believe. He'd hardly let Revan out of his sight for a few days afterward.

"Yes, well, I think he's over that," Revan said, shrugging. "I did... anticipate that reaction. He was going to do it, sooner or later."

Carth's hand gripped and tightened on hers. "You... _anticipated_ that?" he asked, faintly horrified.

"He was all set to kill you on Korriban, Carth," Revan said, looking up directly into his eyes. "One wrong word and he would have."

Carth felt all of the blood drain from his face. It was something he had already known, but hearing it said so baldly shook him. "That... that didn't happen. If it had just been me there... if you hadn't been there, too... I think he would have."

Revan put a finger on his lips. "Sh. It didn't happen. There's no need to dwell on might-have-beens. My point is that, for Dustil, trying to kill me is a normal reaction, and that would be the case even if I wasn't also your lover."

Carth was speechless for a moment, taken aback by such a matter-of-fact and calm statement. "I was going to ask you if I could trust you alone with him, you know, as a joke, but maybe I should be asking Dustil that question instead of you."

"It would be A Very Bad Idea," she said warningly; Carth heard the capitals dropping into place. "Speaking as an amateur mediator and diplomat," she added. She cupped his face with her cool hands. "You can't be here all the time, standing as a buffer, like some sort of demilitarized zone, between us forever. You said you trust me always. Will you trust me with your son?"

"Of, of course," he said. He pulled her close, leaning his forehead on hers. "I just... I just want the two people I love best in this world to," he faltered, "I don't know--love each other is probably too optimistic of me..." _And I accused _Bastila_ of wishful thinking once... You're either the biggest fool in the galaxy, or the most optimistic, Onasi._

"I'm willing to make the effort, Carth, for your sake," Revan said softly, looking into his eyes. "I hope for friendship. I'm... I won't ask for more. I haven't the right."

"It would be enough for me," Carth said quietly.

"Oh, Carth..." she murmured, a stricken look in her eyes. "This is what I saw, when you told me you love me. You are torn between us, trapped in the middle. It's why I gave you the choice. Do you remember?"

"Of course I do," he replied. "But I don't regret the choice I made at all." He buried his nose in her hair, and let the scent of Dantooine flowers surround him, remembering when it had mingled with the sea spray tang of the ocean of an unknown world...

_ Carth found Revan walking slowly along the beach, the waves frothing and curling over her boots in the eternal lapping of the sea on the land. The briny smell of the ocean filled his nostrils, and his boots crunched loudly on the sand. _

_ It was the middle of the night, some strange hour when they should all have been asleep, but the victory celebrations were still going strong. It was that peculiar moment between dawn and dusk, where the light wasn't yet strong enough to overpower the night, but the darkness was visibly retreating from the onslaught of the sunrise. Stars pricked the sky in constellations he didn't recognize, not in this uncharted space. Unknown, but for a chance made by five Star Maps. _

_ He'd had to slip away from the increasingly-rowdy party, where the drinks were flowing freely but the participants were starting to grow more and more wild. He was too tired to find it amusing, so he'd gotten while the going was good, but he was also too restless to seek his own bunk. _

_ The rest of the crew had wisely copied his strategic retreat; they were all bedded down in the _Hawk_, with T3-M4 and HK-47 to keep watch over their slumber. They were all a bit too battle-ready still, even after the harrowing fights and the flight from the disintegrating Star Forge. No one would sleep well unless they'd marked out watches. He suspected they would wake at shift change out of ingrained habit, even though there wasn't anything more to do but look presentable and washed for the inevitable media circus. _

_ Revan stopped and turned around. He smiled. He thought he was finally getting used to the fact that she could sense him whenever he was nearby, after all these months. _

_ Revan smiled back. "Hey, flyboy. Shouldn't you be resting? The party was getting pretty wild, I thought you'd either still be in the middle of it or sleeping it off." _

_ Carth strode over to her, looking down at her starlight-silvered face. He lifted a lock of her hair out of her face with one hand. "I was about to ask you the same question, beautiful." He brushed the backs of his fingers along her smooth cheek; she closed her eyes and leaned into the caress. "I missed you at the party. I, uh, wanted to find you. See how you were doing," he said innocently. _

_ Among other things. No one was going to be functional tomorrow, not after all the parties they'd had, except maybe for the Jedi and the Republic Fleet's high command. He fully expected everyone to sleep in, nursing hangovers. And no one was likely to find the 'heroes of the Star Forge' and disturb them so soon. _

_ They couldn't go anywhere yet, anyway. No ship had gone unscathed in the battle around the Star Forge. Even Admiral Dodonna's flagship had taken hits, albeit minor ones. Not even the _Ebon Hawk_, for all the fancy flying he'd put it through; debris from the exploding Star Forge had struck the hull, in some cases sheering off entire arrays of sensors. The _Ebon Hawk_ was a tough little ship, and could still fly even after the beating it had taken, thanks to all the redundancy built into its systems, but he would much rather have repairs done on it first before taking it anywhere out of the system. _

_ Tomorrow, and likely for the next week, the Fleet would be busy making repairs on its ships and setting up temporary shipyards to fix the most badly-damaged ones. And he, as the grunt and not the commanding officer this time, would, for once, sit out those decisions. All in all, he couldn't say he minded. _

_ Technically, he was on leave, anyway, so he could spend the rest of his time as he wished, at least until Republic Intelligence and OFI descended on him and dragged him off for the expected round of debriefings. But there was time before they found him. Time he would spend in much better pursuits. Like the one standing in front of him. _

_ "I'm doing okay, considering..." Revan said, and shrugged. _

_ Carth examined her. She didn't look too bad, considering she'd been dying when he'd gone to look for her on the Star Forge. He still remembered, with a mental shudder, the sight of the metal spike piercing her chest, puncturing her front to back. She looked tired, with dark circles under her eyes, and there was that transparent look to her skin he'd seen before, when she pushed herself over the limits of her body. Of course, the entire crew of the _Ebon Hawk_ looked like that, including himself. _

_ "I was just... thinking," Revan continued. _

_ "Oh? Thinking about what?" Carth asked. He twined his fingers into her short-cropped hair. Not so short-cropped now; it had grown out in the months since Taris, so he had something to bury his fingers in. Which he did, reveling in the soft silkiness of it. _

_ Revan stepped back, out of his reach. Carth blinked and let his hands drop to his sides. "Oh, uh, sorry," he stammered, thinking he'd been too forward. _ You idiot, Onasi. You must've had too much to drink, you're not thinking straight.

_ Revan caught his hands in her cool ones, shaking her head. "It's not that." _

_ Carth gripped her hands tightly. "What is it, then?" He stared down at her, her eyes huge and dark in the starlight. Unreadable. Fear shook his heart, deep inside. "Are you... are you having second thoughts? About us?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady. _

_ Revan shook her head again, vigorously. "No, no, it's not that. Don't ever think that." _

_ His heart stopped its downward descent. "Then... then what?" he asked, bewildered. It had all seemed so clear on the beach where they'd parked the _Hawk_ when they'd first crashed on Rakata, and the Star Forge... _

_ Revan stared up at him. "I was thinking about you." _

_ Carth sighed relief. "Oh, well, that doesn't sound too bad." That sounded promising. _

_ Revan smiled at the familiar roguishness in his voice, then sobered. "I was thinking... wondering if you've had time to think things through. We've hardly had enough time, in our mad scramble, first from Taris, then for the Star Maps, then for the Star Forge." _

_ Carth's brow wrinkled. "Think about what?" He grinned. "All I've been able to think about is you, beautiful." _

_ Revan's face turned sad. "Have you thought about who I really am? Has it sunk in yet?" _

_ "I don't understand. I... I mean, yes, that's all I've ever thought about, after... after the _Leviathan_. On Manaan. Here..." Carth said, his voice trailing off when she shook her head. _

_ "I'm Revan, Carth," Revan said. _

_ Carth thought she was stating the obvious. "Well, yes. I know that," he said uncertainly. _

_ "Carth... remember the promise you gave to me, on Tatooine?" Revan asked. _

_ Carth frowned. "Of course I do." Did she think he was going to break his promise to her? _

_ Revan looked down at their clasped hands. "Carth... when you made that promise, you didn't know who I really was. You thought you were protecting Nami Kera'al, a smuggler-turned-Jedi, not... me, the former Dark Lord of the Sith, reformed scourge of the galaxy." _

_ "Where're you going with this, beautiful?" Carth asked warily. _

_ Revan took out one hand from their grip and brushed it along his jaw lightly. Carth closed his eyes, lost in the sensation of her cool, slightly-rough fingertips on his cheek. _

_ "I don't want you bound out of obligation, Carth," Revan said softly. _

_ Revan held his hand again, but changed her grip so that she held his hands by the fingers. She raised them to her lips and pressed a kiss onto the backs of his hands. Then she raised them higher and bowed, pressing them to her forehead in a formal gesture of... something. What, he didn't know. And he wasn't sure he was going to like it. She opened her hands, as if she were releasing a wild bird from captivity, letting go of his hands. _

_ Letting go of _him

_ "I release you from your promise. It was... never really valid, in the first place," Revan said softly, not looking at him. She opened and closed her hands, as if she didn't know what to do with them. _

_ "What...?" he breathed. "No!" He caught her hands again, holding them in a tight grip. _

_ "Carth... oaths are, by their nature, very specific. I don't want you to feel trapped by your promise. I don't want your gift to be twisted like that," Revan said earnestly, finally looking him in the eyes. _

_ "You're not trapping me. That's... that's _my_ gift, given of my own free will. No one forced me then, and no one's forcing me now." Carth raised her hands and kissed them, copying her gesture, but letting his lips linger on her knuckles. "You can't release me if I don't want to be released." _

_ "But... Carth, that was when you thought all you had to protect me from was the Sith, the everyday, normal dangers of being a Jedi. Now... I'll be facing much more than that. Sith assassins, for one thing. Public... disfavor, for another. And..." She bit her lip. "And I don't want to come between you... and Dustil." _

_ "Is that what you're afraid of?" Carth asked quietly. He held her hands in one of his own, freeing the other so that he could cup her cheek. _

_ "I fear few things, anymore. Hurting someone I love is certainly one of them." She rubbed her cheek against his hand. _

_ So. She admitted that she loved him. At least she wasn't saying otherwise. He didn't think his heart could take it if she did. _

_ "I said I'd protect you. No matter what. _You_ may release me from my promise, but _I'm_ not gonna release me from it." Carth released her hands to hold her face in his. "I can deal with Sith assassins. I can deal with a hostile public. I can even deal with Dustil, though I'll admit it won't be easy." He leaned his forehead against hers, smelling the sea spray on her face, the herbal scent of her hair. "But I can't deal without you," he said in a whisper. _

_ She trailed her cool fingers over his features, running along his jaw, tracing his eyebrows. "I can't deal without you, either," she whispered back. _

_ "Then... then why?" Carth asked, bewildered. "Why did you want me to leave?" Surely she wasn't playing games with his head like this. _

_ Her fingers brushed his lips, over his whiskers, along his chin. "I didn't. I just wanted to give you the choice. To set you free," she whispered. "You said I gave you a future, though I think I had little to do with it. And I see it's a bright one. A glorious one. It's your triumph that you go to. I don't... want to hold you back from it." _

_ Carth stepped closer to her, close enough for her chest to brush against his, and dropped one hand to her waist, the other slipping into her hair at the nape of her neck. He inhaled deeply of her hair, the salt-sea-spiciness of it, of her cool skin, flowery and light. He bent and kissed her, his tongue running over her soft lips, and they parted for him. He pulled her close; she didn't resist. She sucked gently on his bottom lip, pressing her lips lightly to the corners of his mouth while her fingers ran through his hair. _

_ He could feel the heat of her body through the rough brown Jedi robe she wore against his palm, against his chest and torso where she pressed against him. It was like suddenly encountering a summer day after a long eternity of winter, as tensed muscles and wound-up nerves relaxed and uncoiled, the longer he held her in his embrace. He worked his fingers deeper into her hair, feeling the soft silken tresses like water in his hand as the strands slid through them. _

_ "The only way you could hold me back is if you held me away," Carth whispered against her cheek. He kissed her eyelids, her forehead, her cheeks, the coolness of her skin as refreshing and delicious as cold water on a hot Tatooine day. _

_ She brushed the locks of hair on his forehead back with one hand, her other hand trailing along his unshaven jaw. "I don't want you to wake up some day and look back, regretting your promise. Because you deserve better than that. I don't want for there to be obligation between us." _

_ "I don't see it as an obligation, beautiful." He let her go, and led her higher up the beach, where he sat down on a sandy hummock, pulling her with him to sit on his lap. He wrapped himself around her, curling around her so that she fit perfectly in the circle of his arms. She leaned against his chest, the top of her head tucked under his chin, her arms around his waist. "I love you, Revan. I made that promise because I love you, even though I was too afraid to say it, at the time. Knowing who you really are... doesn't change that." _

_ Revan gently disengaged herself from his embrace and took his face gently in both hands, surprising him. She visibly stifled a giggle; he could tell by the way her lips pressed together and how her eyes crinkled and sparkled. _

_ "You are a wonder to me, Carth Onasi," Revan said softly as her thumbs gently brushed his cheekbones. "You said you admired me for my abilities and talents and courage. But I don't think I have ever told you how much I am awed by you, and how much I admire _your_ courage and spirit." She placed a thumb over his lips when his lips parted to speak. "Let me say this without interruption. I need to say it." He acquiesced reluctantly. _

_ "I am a Jedi, and we are expected to go on in spite of incredible odds and win through any obstacle. But you... you may be slightly more attuned to the Force than most people, but you are not Force Sensitive. And yet you stood, unbowed, even during the darkest and most desperate horrors of our quest. While we stood on an exploding deck of the _Endar Spire_. On Taris, the _Leviathan_, the Star Map planets and the Star Forge. Even when you found out that I was Darth Revan. _

_ "I am humbled every day that you are by my side. You are no Jedi, 'just a soldier' you said. But I see you endure and cope with things that would daunt and discourage many a Jedi. You give me strength to go on, simply because you do the impossible, without complaint. _

_ "The true miracle is not that the Jedi gave me a second chance, or that I did not fall back to the Dark Side in this incarnation, or that we defeated Malak and destroyed the Star Forge. No. The true miracle is that you could come to love me. That is a lesson in humility no Jedi Code or any amount of lectures could ever teach me." _

_ Revan caressed his face wonderingly. "I would not be here, but for you. I confess I wouldn't have minded if Malak had killed me, even as I killed him." _

_ Carth stiffened and tightened his arms around her at that. _

_ "Nothing but living a lie and hostile scrutiny from everyone--from the Jedi Council to the Senate--awaited me. But you said you loved me, on the beach. In front of everyone. I know how painful a gift that was, how hopeful and trusting of you to give it. And how generous. You, who I had hurt so badly as Darth Revan. You gave me your heart, when I was the one who had shattered it to pieces in the first place. _

_ "And after that... I would storm the gates of hell themselves to come back to you. Even if I had to sap them and mine them and make them blow sky high. I had to come back and give you your gift back. And in return, give you mine. _

_ "I love you." she looked up into his eyes, as if she hoped he could see her feelings in them. _

_ He stared into eyes gone so bright, they seemed to hold the all stars in the sky. He was shaken to his core with her confession, with the revelation that she held him in such high regard. And here he had thought he would never be truly worthy of _her

_ "I love you," he whispered, as he took her face in his hands, copying her gesture. "You're the one who made it possible for me to have a heart again, to give." His heart nearly cracked at the hopeful, tremulous smile she gave him. _

_ Carth stood up and took the hand Revan reached to him. He pulled her up and kept his hold on her hand, as they strolled slowly back to the _Ebon Hawk

"I have no regrets at all, beautiful. Absolutely none," Carth murmured into her hair. "I'd have to deal with Dustil anyway, and... it wouldn't have been easy. Not easy at all. Just having you here... calms me down. I know I never say the right thing--" she made a noise of protest, "--okay, almost never, but you know what I mean." He leaned back so that he could look into her eyes. "I don't think I could've gotten even this far with Dustil, without you."

"Don't sell yourself short, flyboy." She brushed one slightly-rough finger on his face, tracing the line of his cheekbone. "And don't sell Dustil short, either. He reaches for you even as you reach towards him. What I fear... is that I stand in your way, and his. That choice, too, is always open, you know. The one I gave you on that beach. If you need time to be with Dustil, without me to muddle things up, I'll wait."

Carth caught her hand and pressed the back of it to his lips to cover his confusion. "Revan... this isn't like you, to back away from something like this. You were so brave, even when Dustil said those things to you. You didn't even flinch." _Much_.

"Ah, but I'm such a coward, when it comes to seeing you hurt," she whispered.

"Well, we're all of us cowards when it comes to seeing people they love hurt," he said softly. He looked down at her hand, still held in his, and kissed the knuckles. He looked up from contemplating the delicate tracery of the veins under her skin, like a flower petal held up to the light, into her eyes. "Dustil has to learn to live with you, sooner or later, no matter how long you wait. Or how long _I_ wait. Time's become a lot more precious to me, since the Star Forge. I think we're getting on pretty well right now. Let's... let's keep on like this. We may all learn something from this, not just Dustil."

"It is, as always, your choice," she said. But she looked happy at his answer.

"Then I've decided." He traced her features with a callused thumb: eyebrows, her bottomless eyes, nose, her lips. He memorized them, learning them by heart, even though he already knew them, to be stored away and taken out when he went to infiltrate Sayir.

"I wish you didn't have to go," Revan said, after several moments had passed in silence, while they were each committing memories into their hearts.

"I wish I didn't, too, but I'm the only one who's got a chance of getting in," Carth said, idly twirling a lock of her hair around his finger.

She sighed. "And I don't dare put any sort of surveillance or tracking device on you. Even the smallest, smaller than a speck of dust, would give you away. If Sayir is placing such importance on operational security and secrecy, that they're not even allowing rowdy mercenaries with credits to burn in Sluis Van, they'll be searching for something exactly like that. Perhaps that's what gave both Bospho's and Khyrohn's agents away. I'm... I'm worried."

He smiled crookedly. "Well, now you know how I feel when you go waltzing off on one of your hare-brained schemes," he said lightly.

Or maybe she didn't, because a look of realization passed across her face. "Am I such a trial to you?" she asked, stricken.

"No, no," he shook his head, cursing inwardly at himself for saying the wrong thing. Again. He caught her hand again. "Beautiful, you wouldn't be Revan if you didn't go off half-cocked. It's just the way you are. Anyway, you've got nothing to worry about. I'll be back after a few days," he said confidently.

Carth inexplicably found himself missing her already. He leaned down and kissed her, her mouth soft, cool and minty on his lips. He dug his fingers into her unbound hair, smooth and silky in his hand, the scent of sweet flowers filling his nose.

Reluctantly he disengaged from her, after a long moment. "I should go talk to Dustil," he said, a little breathlessly.

Revan nodded, smiling at him encouragingly. "Remember what I said." She pressed a kiss onto the back of his hand, for luck, when he rose from the couch.

* * *

Trunxluvr82190: Heh, Dustil's not exactly subtle in his thoughts, eh? Carth and Revan are really... what? As for House Sayir... not sayin' nothin'. :whistle:

Hobnob-rev: Heh, thanks. :)

Prisoner 24601: Heh, Carth seems like the twitchy sort when it comes to _his_ ship, certainly. But all good pilots would be the same, I think. Yeah, I'm trying to keep Dustil from caving in too easily, good to know I did my job. :)

icey cold: They never comment because you haven't updated in eons! :p :) Do you need a bigger stick? ;) Glad you enjoyed that little humorous interlude, though it wasn't nearly as humorous to Carth and Revan at the time. Again, not sayin' nothing...

schmoopy: Hey, thanks. :)

Rascarin: Thanks!

Feza's twin: Not sayin' nothin'... And while Revan _is_ an adrenaline junkie, she just enjoys a challenge. :) She'd go nuts sitting around doing nothing.

Lunatic Pandora1: If it's anything like Tribes 3rd person, then yes, it bothers me. You can't hardly aim in 3rd person, anyway.

Waffles: Thanks! Continue to enjoy!

gamorrean princess: Here you go!

VMorticia: Sh, you're not supposed to talk about that stuff here... o.o; And Carth wasn't being paranoid, just... dry and exasperated. I never said Dustil's Sithyness would be in evidence in the very next chapter. :)


	41. Disclosure

**Chapter 41: Disclosure**

Dustil looked up from packing his clothes into a trunk at the sound of the door chime. "Come in," he called. He heard the sounds of boots and recognized Carth's footsteps. His father stuck his head into the doorway to his bedroom.

"Hi, son," Carth said by way of greeting, leaning against the doorway.

"Hey." Dustil moved aside a pile of clothes, datapads and holos off the bed, which was covered with similar piles of stuff. So was the floor, in fact. He believed in overturning everything onto the floor and then separating items into smaller, more specific piles, before organizing _those_ into yet more piles. It wasn't the most efficient way of organizing his belongings, since he tended to get sidetracked over things, as the blasters on the small table showed, but it worked for him.

Carth looked around at the chaos with a faintly-bemused expression on his face. The only other places to sit were taken up with Dustil's things, except for the chair Dustil had been sitting on in front of the table. Dustil picked up a wobbly pile from another chair, datapads and data chips sliding out every which way and falling to the floor with small clattering noises.

Carth winced, started to bend down and pick things up, but then he stopped, probably daunted by the sheer amount of things he'd have to pick up once he started. Dustil grinned to himself. Carth could be incredibly fussy about messes. It was probably his ingrained military discipline that made him want to clean things up.

"Maybe you should've been a housekeeper instead of a soldier, Father," Dustil teased, waving a hand at the chair.

Carth chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. He sat down in the now-empty chair, trying not to look at the floor. "Complete with apron and fuzzy pink slippers, huh?" He reached out idly for a blaster on the table, one in the middle of disassembly.

Dustil grinned, sitting back down at the table next to Carth. "I think you'd look... cute." He began to take another blaster apart. He used to tinker with his lightsaber all the time, back on Korriban. Of course, that was before he'd thrown it away. As if he could throw away all the lies that had gone along with it. Not so easy as all that, he was finding.

"Hah, very funny," Carth said dryly. "Huh, I don't think I'm too flattered," he added, automatically reaching out for the tools on Dustil's table. They were the only things organized so neatly in the entire room. He picked up a calibrator. "Hey, has this one been running a little hot?" he asked, pointing at the blaster in his hand. "But not all the time?" he added.

Dustil looked up from the blaster he was working on, surprised. "Yeah, why? And how'd you know?"

"I've only been tinkering with and building blaster pistols since before you were born," Carth said with a lopsided smile. He pointed out the faint stains in the pistol's power pack socket to him. "See that?"

"Yeah...?" Dustil said, puzzled. Carth held the pistol closer towards the light, so that Dustil could see the stains in the very small socket. "Hey... what _is_ that?"

"The power pack you've been using must have a crack in it. Every time you pull the trigger, the power pack starts to get warmer and warmer, until it overheats. These are burn marks," Carth explained.

Dustil fished out the power pack he'd been using most often with that particular pistol from a pile of its fellows. He examined it; there weren't any cracks that he could see. Of course, if there _had_ been, he wouldn't have continued using it. "I don't see anything." He showed it to his father.

Carth took it and gave it a more minute examination. "You wouldn't have kept using it if you _had_ been able to see it, right? I taught you better than that." He selected a magnifier from the toolbox and started to run it slowly over the power pack. "Usually cracks develop along the line of... there!" He held the magnifier over the offending spot, tilting it towards Dustil so that he could see it, too.

Dustil peered through the lens, uncertain as to where to look for the flaw, until he saw a tiny hairline crack right along the thin length of the pack.

"See it?" Carth asked.

"Yeah..." Dustil took the magnifier from Carth and examined the crack more closely. "How'd that happen?"

"My guess is that there was probably already a flaw in it at the manufacturer's. Probably small enough to pass their inspection teams, although their inspectors were way too lax in this case, in my opinion. They should've taken this out as soon as they found it, but I guess the galaxy's full of corner-cutting outfits. Anyway, it just got worse the more you used it, and the crack got bigger and bigger. The bigger the crack got, the more it overheated," Carth said. He took the pack from Dustil's hand and turned it over to look at the manufacturer's mark. His lip curled. "Czerka. Figures."

"And it didn't always overheat because sometimes I put in a different power pack, one that was okay," Dustil said slowly.

Carth smiled. "That's right, son. But take my advice and check out all the other power packs you have. There might be more of them." He held up the cracked cell. "You know, this could probably be fixed, if you want."

Dustil raised his eyebrows. "What for? I've got plenty."

Carth shrugged and picked the thin but sturdy calibrator back up. "Okay. It's just that Revan's got a box of tricks that can fix damned near anything, practically--"

"No!" Dustil said before he could stop himself. Even as he blurted out the negative he was wondering why he had.

Carth froze, one hand on the blaster, the calibrator poised over the power socket. He relaxed himself forcibly, and if Dustil hadn't been watching for it, he would've thought Carth hadn't reacted at all.

"Okay," Carth said quietly, carefully, in the same tone of voice someone might use to calm a wild animal down.

Dustil restrained his temper. Sooner or later, all of his conversations with Carth would turn towards Revan in some way. Always. His hands were clenched on the blaster, the exposed edges biting into his palms. He took a deep breath and relaxed the fingers and muscles that had suddenly tensed.

There was silence for a few minutes. Carth started to probe the power socket with the calibrator, seeming to give it more attention than it really warranted, not looking up at Dustil. Dustil, for his part, started working on his own blaster again, attaching the new energy cell to the correct leads. In the pit of his stomach a small lump of dread grew. Carth wasn't going to let that go, he just knew it. Carth would want to know the reason for why he'd burst out like that, a reason he didn't even know himself.

Or rather, he did, but it certainly seemed like a very petty and spiteful reason now. The truth was, he didn't want Revan's help. He certainly didn't want her help with a broken power pack that could just be discarded. He didn't need anybody's help. Not Revan's.

_Especially_ not Revan's.

"Is something wrong, son?" Carth asked delicately, after another moment had passed.

"Nothing," Dustil said tersely, in the vain hope that his father would leave it alone.

There was a pause, one long enough to make Dustil think Carth really would let it go. That hope was dashed.

"It doesn't sound like nothing," Carth said in an extremely neutral voice, breaking the silence.

Dustil's hands clenched on his tools in frustration; this incessant questioning was making him want to scream.

"It's nothing, like I said," Dustil said through gritted teeth.

"Son..." Carth said, still not looking up from the blaster.

Dustil hunched a little. Here it came. He stared studiously down at his blaster, marveling at the fact that his hands were so steadily putting the energy cell into its socket. He tried not to squirm. He heard Carth sigh, and felt his eyes on him.

"Dustil," Carth began, then paused, as if he were carefully weighing and considering his words before he spoke them. "I know you're still not... I know things aren't too smooth between you and Revan right now..."

Now _there_ was an understatement if ever there was one, Dustil thought. He didn't look up. He desperately didn't want to look up.

"Son, I'm going to be gone for a few days..." Carth continued. "I'm not... asking for you to let these things go, but I'd like to ask you to leave them alone. Until I come back."

"What, you think something's going to happen while you're gone?" Dustil asked nonchalantly, fighting to keep his voice even. Did his father think he was going to run after Revan with a sword as soon as he stepped out the door? He flushed slightly, remembering when he'd done just that, and nearly killed Carth doing it. Still, did Carth think he never learned from his mistakes? Did his father think he was that blind, that stupid?

Carth paused, obviously mulling his question over and considering his answer. "I'm... hoping nothing's going to happen. Son, I know you're still angry with her. I've felt the same way, so I know how it eats you up inside, when you think no one's looking."

Dustil felt himself flush deeper. Had he been so obvious? He breathed in deeply, drawing into his lungs the metallic smell of blaster lubricant oil from the pistols, the fragrance of the air freshener in the hotel room, the faint leather scent of his father's jacket.

"So you think I'm gonna start something?" Dustil asked bitterly. His fingers attached the last of the leads to the energy cell mechanically, almost of their own volition. "What makes you think I could finish it?" He knew what his limitations were, as bitter a pill that was to swallow. There was no way he could beat Revan in a fair fight--or even an unfair fight--whether he used the Force or not. Maybe years later, but... not now.

Carth was silent for a few moments. Dustil dared to glance up. Carth's face was uncommonly hard to read. Usually, as Revan had said, Carth's emotions and feelings were plain for all the world to see. That he couldn't read his father now... he wondered if he had gone too far.

"Dustil," Carth said the syllables of his name slowly, "you and I both know you wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell." Dustil hunched his shoulders. Did he have to state it so damned baldly? Carth sighed again. "But Revan... I don't know how she would take it. She wouldn't hurt you... I'm afraid she might not... defend herself."

"Why do you keep assuming I'm going to start a fight with her?" Dustil asked, finally looking up from his blaster to glare angrily at Carth. "Why are you always taking her side?"

Carth looked up and met his eyes unflinchingly. "I'm trying _not_ to take sides, son. Why does there have to be sides, anyway? Having sides seems to imply there's a war on. Unless there's something you're not telling me?" he asked invitingly.

Dustil didn't take the bait. "No."

"I see." Stymied and perhaps daunted, Carth said nothing more, looking back down at the blaster. Dustil wasn't sure, but he thought his father's shoulders were slumped slightly. Carth continued to run the calibrator over the blaster. "I don't think the broken power pack did any damage. The wiring and housing haven't sustained any heat damage," he said, returning to a safer subject.

"Oh. Uh, good," Dustil said, finishing putting his blaster back together after installing the energy cell. Unfortunately, that left his hands with nothing to work on. Remembering what his father had said about the other power packs, he scooped the small pile up from the floor and tumbled them onto the table. He started to run the magnifier over the first one he reached for. Good, this was an activity that required a great deal of attention. Enough that maybe Carth would take the hint and leave him alone with it. And if Carth didn't, he could still keep his eyes down.

"Son... will you... will you promise me? To leave things alone?" Carth asked after a long while, his hands still on the blaster.

Dustil slammed the power pack down onto the table with unnecessary force, noting with some satisfaction his father's flinch at the sudden noise. "Why do you keep thinking _I_ would start something?" Dustil asked angrily. "I'm no match for her! She's powerful enough to swat me like a bug without lifting her little finger!" He swiped a hand through his hair. "Doesn't it bother you, knowing you're sleeping with someone who could rip you limb from limb with just a thought?"

Carth had frozen again at Dustil's unexpected display of anger and frustration, but his hands continued, almost immediately, to work calmly again on the blaster. Dustil suppressed an irrational urge to snatch it from him.

"No. It doesn't bother me. I trust her not to," Carth said, his voice amazingly calm. "As for her swatting you... I know she would never, ever hurt you intentionally. She wouldn't defend herself, which is what I'm afraid of. That's why I want you to promise me that you won't make trouble while I'm gone."

Dustil would've gotten up at that point and stormed out, but only at the expense of trodding all over his possessions. He settled for gripping the power pack tightly. "She gave me a chance to kill her when I pulled a blaster on her. I didn't take it. If it was good enough for her, it should be good enough for you," he spat, without taking thought or heed of his words.

The calibrator broke with a sudden snap in Carth's hands. Dustil flinched at the noise and felt his cheeks tingle as the blood drained out of his face. _Didn't he know...?_ came the first, to his shame, panicked thought. Carth stared down at the broken pieces, then laid them aside with exaggerated care. With equally exaggerated care he said, "What?" His voice was so neutral it was nearly a monotone.

Dustil looked up quickly at Carth, whose face was completely expressionless. Dustil almost wished for his father to shout, scream, throw things around... anything but this terrifying... nothing.

Carth's glittering emerald eyes pinned him to his chair. "And... when was this?" he asked softly. The question was more a command than a request. Carth folded his hands on the blaster, waiting politely for his answer in an attitude of patience that said he would be content to wait all day, all week, all month, if he had to.

Dustil couldn't keep himself from shrinking slightly under that gaze. From his father's reaction, it didn't look like Revan had told him of what had happened--and what had almost happened--on the rooftop back on Coruscant. _Oh, shit_. Dustil thought of accusing Revan of leaving him to hold the bag, at least in his own mind, but his damnable conscience said it wouldn't hold water, since _he_ was the one who'd let it slip.

Carth was still waiting patiently for him to explain. That he hadn't immediately demanded an explanation, which was what Dustil had been expecting, threw him off balance; Carth's steady regard unsettled him.

"It was... it was the day you went to Fleet HQ for Admiral Dodonna's appointment," Dustil said, glancing down at the power pack; against his will, he looked back up at his father.

Carth's eyes flickered. "You were on the rooftop with her when I came back." Dustil nodded mutely. "What had you been talking about that day?"

Dustil coughed, toying with the magnifier. "You, mostly."

A look of surprise finally cracked the impassive expression on Carth's face. "Me?" he blurted, his astonishment quite plain and clear in that single syllable.

"Yeah." Dustil looked, without really paying any attention, at the power pack in his hand.

"And just what about me were you talking about that made you pull a blaster on her?" Carth asked relentlessly, his voice neutral once more.

Dustil stared at the power pack, as if he might find the answers he was looking for etched on its side. "She'd been... she'd been talking about how you wouldn't let her die. That she thought she deserved to die and that she agreed with me about that." His eyes darted to Carth's hands, where he saw that they were clenched on the blaster. "I... somehow I wound up with a blaster in my hand, pointed at her head, right between the eyes." He decided not to mention it had been Carth's own personal blaster he'd held.

"I see," was Carth's extremely neutral response. Dustil stole a glance at his father's face. It was forbiddingly... blank. "And... she didn't do anything?" Carth asked.

"No... she just... she just looked at me. And smiled." Dustil tightened his fingers on the power pack, to conceal their trembling.

"And she still didn't do anything? She didn't use the Force?" Carth asked, staring down at the blaster he held in a white-knuckled grip.

"No. She could've..." Dustil still remembered how Revan had looked up at him, so calmly, so serenely, even as he had pressed the muzzle of the blaster against her forehead.

"Haven't you ever wondered? Haven't you ever wondered why she never used the Force to stop you?" Carth asked quietly.

Dustil paused. Carth's question was one he'd asked himself, many times, and he never had found a plausible answer. The Sith would've come to the conclusion that Revan was weak, that she could not--or would not--harm the one who'd tried to harm her, but that reason, Dustil suspected, was... flimsy. And wrong. He nodded.

Carth leaned towards him. "I think it's because she was offering you a choice, to let _you_ decide whether you'd pull the trigger, or not. And if she used the Force to put you in stasis, well, you wouldn't ever know what you might've chosen, would you?" He shivered slightly, as if a cold wind had blown through him. "Taking insane risks, as usual," he said, his attempt at a light tone falling flat.

Dustil fell back against his chair. Was what his father said true? Had Revan let him nearly kill her, not because of some death wish, but because she'd wanted him to be free to choose? How could anyone trust someone that much? "That's... that's crazy," he said, uncertainly.

Carth snorted, picking at the broken calibrator. "Yeah, that's her, alright." He looked up at Dustil, his eyes suddenly as penetrating as Revan's sometimes were. "So... you had a chance to kill her, that day. Why didn't you?"

Dustil stared at him, then stared down at the power pack in his hands. He still wasn't sure why he hadn't. She would've let him. One shot, and she would've died, quite instantly. He knew, with an unshakeable certainty, that she would have done nothing to stop him. "I... don't know."

Carth's eyes held a faint light of disbelief. Dustil squirmed and dropped his eyes. "I couldn't," Dustil said, and licked his dry lips. "She said she's punished worse every day she's alive, and... and that death wouldn't be any punishment."

A pained hiss escaped Carth's lips and his breath caught, as if he had just been punched hard in the gut. Dustil looked up to see his father's stricken face. "Oh. I... I thought she was happy..." Carth whispered, staring at nothing, his hands clenched around the blaster hard enough for his knuckles to whiten.

"She said..." Dustil began, in an obscure need to chase the pain on his father's face away; Carth's eyes snapped back to his. Dustil licked his lips again, and cleared his throat. "She said... she said she found heaven in you. So... I think she _is_ happy."

"Oh." Carth looked much more relieved and happy, his lips curved involuntarily in a faint smile. "I... I'm glad." He turned back to Dustil, his eyes sharpening. "You didn't answer my question, son. Not really."

Dustil stared back down at the power pack, cursing Carth's persistency. "Because... because if what she said was true, about her memories and... I, I couldn't," he said, his words stumbling over each other. "I don't think Mother would've been too proud of me. And... I don't think you would ever forgive me if I had."

There was silence for a few moments, then Dustil felt his father's hand on his shoulder. "Son, look at me." Dustil looked up into Carth's eyes, and was astonished, and relieved, to see no condemnation in them. Just an oddly... understanding light. "Son, I think your mother would say she'd be extremely proud that you hadn't acted on your anger and hate. And I say the same thing."

Dustil looked down again at his hands. "Yeah, well, I didn't exactly do too well, later," he said in a small voice. His father's hand clenched on his shoulder, then relaxed.

"Son... you're only human. I expect the news that she was Revan came as quite a... shock. I don't blame you for it, and neither does Revan," Carth said reassuringly. "Although... I hope it's not something you intend to make a habit of." He took one of the broken calibrator pieces back up in one hand, then started breaking it into smaller and smaller pieces, filling the sudden silence with the small squeals and whining sounds of plastic and electronics being crushed. "At least, it better not. I don't want to know what'd happen if you did. And I don't think either of us would want to find out," Carth said in a dead-level voice, deliberately breaking the end of the calibrator off evenly, and continuing to do so until there wasn't anything left of that end. Then Carth took the other piece and started calmly breaking that.

Dustil stared at the calibrator being effortlessly broken in Carth's bare hand. The tough plastic was being meticulously decimated into its component parts with his thumb while he held it with his other fingers. Dustil jumped about a foot out of his chair when Carth suddenly slammed the blaster down onto the table with a loud bang.

Dustil swallowed. The silence grew heavy and oppressive. Carth's hand was clenched tightly on the blaster, knuckles white, the other around a bunch of slivers that was all that was left of the calibrator, the sharp edges biting into deep creases in his palm. Carth leaned towards him; Dustil leaned back until he was about to fall off his chair. Carth's face was now only a few inches from his, and the hand holding the remains of the calibrator twitched, as if Carth were restraining himself from grabbing Dustil's neck. A muscle jumped in Carth's jaw.

"I'd thought you were old enough to know better, but you proved me wrong. I think the last time you tangled with Revan must've taught you something, but let me make it crystal clear for you. This is my first and final warning, Dustil." Carth's voice was low and dead even, and his eyes were cold and flat as he looked at Dustil. "You will _not_ attempt to kill Revan anymore. Is. That. Clear," he said, enunciating each word slowly and precisely.

Dustil shrank away from his father. "Y-yessir," he stammered, unable to look away from Carth's deathly-cold eyes. This side of Carth... scared him. It only just now occurred to him that Carth was not _just_ his father; this was a man who had survived the Mandalorian Wars, the aborted Sith War, the search for the Star Forge and the Star Forge itself. And Carth was not someone he, or anyone one else, wanted to piss off.

"Good," Carth said simply. Carth held his eyes a moment more, then released him, leaning back and looking down at the tiny, broken remains of the calibrator still clenched in his hand. "I have a spare I'll give you, to replace the one I broke." He opened his hand and let the pieces fall to the desk from his hand, then deftly put the blaster back together, practiced fingers reattaching and connecting all the pieces in a matter of minutes. He rose from his chair. "I'll see you at dinner, Dustil. Right now I have to go talk to Revan."

Dustil looked up at Carth, then back down at the pile of pulverized calibrator bits. "Uh, yeah. See you later." He was inordinately proud of his steady voice.

Carth nodded curtly, then stepped carefully over the piles of Dustil's things still on the floor, making his way unhurriedly to the door connecting his and Revan's suite to Dustil's.

Only when Dustil heard the door open and close and his father's footsteps fade did he let go of his death grip on the power pack. His fingers cramped painfully.

He had never seen Carth that angry. At least, never that angry at _him_. He found himself desperately hoping he never ever would again. The memory of Carth's emerald eyes gone cold as Hoth's bitterest winds shook him badly. He took a shuddering breath, then another one, the ozone of the broken calibrator circuits clogging his nose. He decided to clean his room up and pack everything away. Keep busy, that was it. He had to keep busy.

As he gathered the tools back up and slotted them back into their niches in the toolbox, Dustil wondered why he hadn't used the Force to teach Carth a lesson. He could easily have thrown Force lightning at him. He'd been too shocked, he supposed. He'd only ever seen the understanding and sympathetic side of Carth, the one who kept giving him opportunities to join him and Revan on their missions, to include him in their lives.

And maybe he'd known that if he used the Force to attack his father, that would be crossing over a line he wouldn't want to step across. He shuddered at the thought of the possible consequences; Revan may be able to do what Nomi Sunrider had done to Ulic Qel-droma. And even if she couldn't, her wrath was something he didn't want to face. No... better that he hadn't succumbed to his anger.

He looked at the pile of calibrator bits again, then he picked up a relatively bigger piece of the calibrator left on the small heap of plastic and circuitry. Try as he might, he couldn't even bend it with both hands. He picked up the blaster Carth had reassembled in one shaking hand. Beneath it, there was a small but visible dent in the desk.

Dustil kept getting the feeling he had just narrowly escaped being thrashed to within an inch of his life.

* * *

Phew. This chapter had been really, really difficult for me to write, folks. My apologies for being late. As a consolation, I've posted an extra long fic cookie at my kotorfanfic guestbook, the URL for which you can see on my profile page. Specifically it's Fic Cookie 8.

With thanks to Adria Teksuni over at kotorfanfic, athenaprime, Sith Lord Darth Revan, Vyperhand, Nyv and Sera Terranova for their help with this chapter, and helping me brainstorm. My apologies if I've missed anyone. I couldn't have done this without you, guys.

Thanks and Godiva chocolate bricks also have to go out to beta readers athenaprime, Nyv, Hobnob-Rev, rimwalker, Sith Lord Darth Revan, Vyperhand, Prisoner 24601 and Sera Terranova.

thesnowman: Okay, but Carth wasn't just referring to himself when he said that line. Anyway, welcome to my little fic corner! Yeah, the vendetta is more from the Italian families than the modern mafia, but there differences are academic.

sammie teufel: I'm sorry I was late, the details of which I just said. I didn't wanna be, but this chapter turned out to be a lot harder than I thought!

gamorrean princess: I tried, I really tried! ;; Here you go, though. Good luck with your classes. :)

Feza's twin, Prisoner 24601: Come now, Carth's been surviving the Mandalorian Wars and the new aborted Sith War long before Dustil and Revan came on the scene; I think you're not giving him enough credit. He's a tough guy, and he knows how to take care of himself without hand-holding. :) Don't worry about Dustil and Revan... worry for Carth and Revan...

VMorticia: Heh, well, the reasons given are plausible, I hope. Dustil really is too young to be able to pass as a mercenary, and I don't think his mannerisms can be hidden by a disguise. Combat veterans just move differently, with more confidence in their bearing, something I don't think Dustil has yet. (Btw, I hope it's bated breath, not baited... I keep imagining you holding a fish in your mouth and mumbling 'here, kitty, kitty'...)

SeraTerranova: Sera, I can't thank you enough for your feedback both here and in IRC, and for the ideas you've given me. :) And yeah, can't make it too easy for Carth and Dustil to bond, right? Four years of resentment doesn't just go away. And yes, it would be interesting to see just how Revan copes, wouldn't it? :)

Lunatic Pandora1: Thanks. :)

Ceridan: Not sayin' nothin'. Nope. You'll just have to wait and see. :)

Waffles: Thank you! Glad you enjoyed. :)

arrow maker: Glad to see you back. Good luck to you on your classes. :)


	42. Confrontations

**Chapter 42: Confrontations**

Carth made his way from Dustil's bedroom to the door in the living room that connected Dustil's suite with his and Revan's, trying very hard not to stomp. His hands clenched and unclenched, his right palm stinging a little where he had gripped the broken pieces of a broken calibrator. He took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled slowly, walking without haste to the door.

He was still staggered by what Dustil had told him. The time in the exercise room had _not_ been the first time Dustil had attacked her. With the shock came anger, and he was astonished, a little, at the force of it. He couldn't remember being this angry, and this was one of the very few times he was angry at Revan.

He punched the door panel with unnecessary force and stepped through when it opened obediently for him. He looked around; Revan wasn't here in the living room, but their notes and datapads were still scattered on the living room table. The sounds of tapping keys came from their bedroom.

Carth paced back and forth in the living room, fear and anger churning in his gut until it roiled and stewed, until he no longer knew which emotion was the ascendant. He couldn't go talk to Revan yet, even though he felt like marching immediately into the bedroom and confronting her with what Dustil had revealed. He couldn't go talk to her yet, not when he was so angry he was practically incoherent. All that would emerge would be a splutter.

If they'd been on the _Ebon Hawk_, he could go and fiddle around with the ship systems to calm himself down, or take out his frustrations on virtual starfighters using HK-47's space combat sims. He always settled down after a session of messing about with mechanical things; there was a great deal of satisfaction to be had in bashing things until they broke and then putting them back together again, good as new. Or nearly so.

Unfortunately, he was in their hotel suite, with absolutely nothing to distract him. Their suite was tidy, everything was put away, his blasters had been cleaned and his swords polished until they shone. Their speeder was rented, so he couldn't tinker with it. And it was in the hotel garage anyway, along with their swoop bike, so he wouldn't even have any privacy to do as he liked.

His right palm was sticky, he realized suddenly. He looked down; surprise penetrated the fog of anger mixed with fear to see that his hand was a mess of deep cuts, with some plastic slivers still embedded in the folds of his palm. Deliberately, he slowly clenched his hand into a fist, driving the sharp bits even deeper into his flesh, the stinging blossoming into spikes of pain, chasing the fog away from his mind, a little. Blood welled where the knuckles of his fingers were pressed into his palm and where they pushed against plastic splinters. He clenched his fist hard enough for his arm muscles to tremble with the effort.

He headed for the refresher, hand still clenched in a tight fist; if he was going to talk to Revan, he was going to have to clean up first, so that there would be no distractions, no going off on tangents, no digressions.

In the refresher, he took out a medkit, then slowly relaxed his hand; the easing of the pressure sent yet more spikes of pain radiating up his arm, and his hand throbbed and pulsed in time to his heartbeat. He ran some water over his palm, washing the blood and stray bits of plastic away. He picked out the plastic splinters carefully, making sure there weren't any left, hidden under his skin; digging his nails under recalcitrant and tiny plastic bits where they were lodged in his hand caused little stings to cut across the general throbbing ache and soreness.

After ascertaining he had gotten all of the plastic out, and making sure there was nothing left by running the small scanner included with the medkit over his palm, he applied antiseptic, the harsh smell and burn of it further clearing his mind. Then he applied kolto, and watched as the fluid knit the broken skin of his hand together slowly, until the minor wounds were closed.

The distraction of cleaning his hand had helped some in driving a tiny bit of the anger away, but not enough. He rested his hands on the sink, leaning his weight on them, then looked into the mirror. The contacts that tinted his normally-brown eyes an emerald green glittered with rage back at him. The line of his jaw was tight, stretching the false scar, making it pull on his skin, where it trailed from his temple down his cheek, trailing under his jaw and on down his neck, until it disappeared into his collar. He closed his eyes and forcibly relaxed his muscles; his teeth ached when he unclenched his jaw.

He let the cold of the ceramic sink seep into his hands, letting himself feel it, feeling the smoothness of the enameled surface, feeling the faint twinge of pain in his newly-healed right hand. He emptied his mind and let himself feel only sensation. He took a deep breath, smelling the harsh, acrid antiseptic lingering in the 'fresher, the air freshener, the pleasant, cool scent of kolto, redolent of salty ocean.

_There is no emotion; there is peace._

He clung to that first line of the Jedi Code, clung to it with a desperation that nearly left him gasping. He was deeply sorry for all the times he'd derided it, whether in speech or in his own mind. It helped him clear his mind further, so that his thoughts were more coherent now, rather than just a tangled mess of emotions. While it would've been nice to hide behind anger, he still had to face his terribly frightening thoughts.

_Dustil had tried to kill Revan. Not once, but twice._

_Revan had not told him about the first time._

_I just did the next thing to threatening Dustil, to make him leave Revan alone._

He inhaled. Held it. Exhaled. Inhaled again. Held it. Exhaled.

His hands gripped the sink, hard enough for his fingers to grow numb.

That it should come to this. That he needed to threaten Dustil with violence to make him stop doing something. What also shook him badly was how much he'd wanted to beat Dustil to within an inch of his life for trying to kill his lover. Breaking the calibrator was as much preventing himself from doing just that while also pressing the point home.

He leaned his forehead against the cool, silvered glass.

He couldn't help feeling sick to his stomach, that he may just have used a Sith tactic on his own son. How many times must Dustil have been forced to obey because he'd been threatened? And yet... and yet it didn't look like anything less harsh could've gotten Dustil to listen and heed his father.

As Dustil's father, he had to set limits. Limits as to what was acceptable, and what was not. Limits as to what was right, and what was wrong.

Limits as to what he could do, and could not do.

He wished there could have been another way. No one had ever given him a manual for this. _The Republic Soldier's Guide to Fatherhood_, assuming such a thing existed, probably wouldn't have a chapter on how to deal with a former Sith teenager who had abandonment and survivor's guilt issues, anyway. Nor would it help him deal with a former Sith teenager who knew his father's lover was also the former Dark Lord of the Sith.

He opened his eyes, seeing the circle of fog that misted the mirror from his breath, his nose and lower face blurred to a blotch of color. He would think about Dustil later. Right now he had to talk to Revan, while he was still calm enough to be more-or-less coherent.

There were limits he had to set with his lover, too, it seemed. And if Dustil should've been old enough to know better, how much more did that apply to Revan, who was older, more experienced and a Jedi?

He was wrong. It wasn't just anger and fear he felt. He was also disappointed.

He turned and opened the door, stepping out of the refresher; he very deliberately did not slam it shut. He went towards their bedroom, where he still heard the sound of tapping keys. He looked in to see Revan poring over the computer console, datapads and data chips scattered on the table.

"Hey, flyboy," Revan said in a distracted tone, not looking up from the screen. "How'd your talk with Dustil go?" She consulted several datapads and tapped some more on the console, apparently oblivious to his building anger. Usually she was quicker on the uptake than this, easily sensing his emotions, but it looked like all of her attention was on the vidscreen.

Carth sat down on a chair next to the desk, watching her work for several moments, reining in his temper until he felt sure he could speak in a relatively normal voice. She didn't appear to have noticed the pause in the conversation, nor was she conscious of the time it was taking him to answer. Whatever was on her vidscreen had her full and complete attention. As usual when she was working on something with such concentration, she was singing under her breath, and he heard the faint clicks of some candy she was sucking on rolling from one side of her mouth to the other, as it tapped against her teeth. The scent of mint drifted towards his nose.

"I had a pretty interesting talk with Dustil," Carth said evenly. His hands were cramping from being clenched into tight fists, and his knuckles hurt from having the skin stretched so tautly over them.

"Ah, good," Revan murmured. "I'm glad you and he are speaking more often." She picked up a stylus and began jotting something down on a datapad.

"Yeah, I learned a lot," Carth said lightly, "especially when he told me he'd pulled a blaster on you and had it pointed at your head."

Oh, Revan was smooth. Not a muscle twitched or tensed at his announcement; she sat as relaxed as she was before, datapad in one hand, stylus poised in mid-stroke in the other. Only the cessation of movement and her eyes snapping to his showed any indication she had heard him at all.

"Got your attention, did I?" Carth said, only just managing not to snarl the words.

"You have it, always," Revan said quietly. "I take it Dustil told you." It was not a question.

"Yeah, he did, although I don't think he ever actually intended to," Carth said in a tight voice. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair in a tight hold. "How much longer were you going to hide this from me? Did you ever actually plan to tell me, at all?"

Revan put aside the datapad on the desk, laying the stylus next to it, then she propped her chin in one hand, the other draped casually on her armrest. "You never asked," she said, infuriatingly calm.

"Dammit, Revan, don't give me that!" Carth shouted, unable to restrain his temper at this line of shit she was trying to feed him. "Do you think I'm that stupid?" He sprang out of the chair, unable to sit still, and paced like a caged fell cat back and forth across the small room.

Revan said nothing as she watched him pace back and forth, one hand tucked under her chin, her elbow on the desk, her other arm draped behind her chair, the very picture of a serene Jedi. It just made him angrier.

"Haven't you got anything pithy to say?" Carth snarled. "Are you going to be like the rest of the Jedi and tell me it was the Will of the Force, or tell me it's beyond my ability to understand?" His hands clenched on each other, where he had clasped them behind his back.

"No," Revan replied quietly.

"The thing that really gets me is that you never told me! And I bet you wouldn't have told me about Dustil attacking you in the exercise room on Coruscant if I hadn't been there, would you?" Carth asked through gritted teeth. He paused, remembering something. "And you didn't tell me Dustil had thrown Force lightning at you, until Juhani forced you to."

"No, I wouldn't have," Revan agreed.

It took a moment for her words to sink in, then Carth thought his blood pressure was going to go through the roof, after the top of his head exploded. He rounded on her, fists clenched at his sides.

"How dare you," he said, his voice now dangerously calm. "_How dare you hide something like this from me_? How dare you play these, these head games with _my_ son!"

"Carth. I wasn't playing games of any sort, with heads or not," Revan said, moving her arms back in front of her and steepling her fingers, looking up at him over her hands. "I assure you, it was all in earnest, all quite serious."

"Then maybe you can explain to me just what the _hell_ you thought you were doing on that damned rooftop with Dustil," Carth snapped, his fear at what could have happened making his anger burn red-hot.

"I was giving him a choice," Revan answered, confirming his guess.

Yes, that was just exactly like her, but the risk--!

"He had a blaster to your forehead! Why didn't you use the Force to stop him?" Carth asked, voice still dangerously calm.

"It wouldn't have been much of a choice if I'd taken the decision out of his hands like that, hey?" she said, confirming his other guess. Revan raised her eyebrows at him.

Carth's hands unclenched and clenched into fists. "Revan... you weren't going to stop him if he pulled the trigger, were you?" He stalked over to the window and stared blindly out at the view, resting his knuckles on the sill. There was a pause. He turned to look over his shoulder at her; she wasn't looking at him, but rather out into the middle distance, at something he couldn't see.

"No," came her devastatingly-simple answer. That 'no' seemed to strike him right in the heart; he inhaled sharply and trembled. No blaster bolt or slugthrower bullet could have struck harder, or caused more pain.

"It was never my intention for Dustil to pull a blaster on me, Carth, whatever you may think," Revan continued. "It surprised me as much as it surprised him, I think. I certainly didn't goad him into doing such a thing."

Carth closed his eyes, turned away and leaned his forehead against the cool surface of the window, resting his weight on his knuckles as he asked the Force for patience.

"Fine. So you let Dustil pull a blaster on you because you wanted to know if he would do it." Carth whirled around. "Did you think of what would happen if he'd done it? _Did you_? To me? To _Dustil_?" he yelled, waving an arm in the direction of Dustil's suite. "You know what this reminds me of? Juhani and her Master!" He started pacing again.

"Except that Dustil didn't strike me down," Revan corrected, her voice as calm as if she were speaking of the weather. "He did quite well."

"And what if he hadn't? What if he had killed you?" Carth asked in a hoarse, tightly-controlled voice. "_What the hell kind of stunt were you trying to pull_?" he shouted, wanting to grab her shoulders and shake her.

"I was confident he wouldn't," Revan said. She was still as a statue, only her eyes moving as she watched him pace back and forth. "In the event that he did, well... the point would be moot, would it not?"

He had reached the desk again. "Dammit, Revan!" Carth slammed his fist down on her desk, making the datapads and chips jump. Much smoother than Dustil, Revan did not jump or react in any way to the loud bang, save for a raised eyebrow. Carth remembered all the things Jedi did that irritated him, and looking calm while he was venting was right at the very top.

"Didn't you even _think_ about the consequences? Killing you would've put Dustil right back in the Dark Side! And, and..." Carth whirled and turned his back on her, suddenly unable to bear the sight of her calm face, all the muscles in his body tense. His hands opened and closed at his sides.

"Don't you know what losing you would've done to me? And to know that Dustil, _my son_, had done it?" he whispered through a tight, dry throat. He felt so twisted up by anger and anguish and pain he thought he felt his bones vibrate. He screwed his eyes shut, feeling a massive headache pound at his temples.

He heard a rustle, then he felt Revan put her arms around him from behind. He jerked at her touch, wanting to move away, but wanting the comfort she wanted to give, too. He stood stiffly, not reacting, until she moved and slid around in front of him, resting her head on his chest, her hands locked around his hips. Her body warmed his front where she was pressed against him.

"I'm sorry to say that, yes, I did. And I judged it worth the risk," Revan murmured into his chest. The scent of flowers and citron spice drifted to his nose from her hair and skin, along with the fragrance of mint.

He took a few moments just to breathe, gulping in huge breaths and venting them noisily, as if he had just run a race, his breath ruffling her hair. He let out a shuddering breath and opened his eyes to see her looking up at him through her bangs. He pushed her away roughly and went to lean on her desk, his weight resting on his knuckles. He hadn't missed the hurt look that'd flashed across her face when he pushed her away.

"Why, Revan? Why?" he asked plaintively, his voice shaking, to the desk. His back was so tight and tense he trembled. "Was it so important to make Dustil choose that you'd risk your life like that? That you'd risk his sanity like that?"

The creak of the mattress told him she'd sat down on the bed. "Yes." That simple answer turned him cold.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?" Carth asked, in a voice full of pain. He straightened up and wheeled around to face her.

"It was none of your business, Carth. It was strictly between me and Dustil," Revan said, not looking at him. Again she was still, her hands clasped demurely in her lap.

For a moment Carth was struck speechless by the sheer gall of her words. He felt like he'd just been punched in the gut. "I, I can't believe you just said that," he said, shaking his head. "Anything that has to do with _my_ son _is_ my business!" he shouted. He sucked in a breath of the cool air, scented with her flowery fragrance, and breathed back out. 

"I... I trusted you, Revan. And you just asked me not an hour ago if I trust you with my son. And now I find out that you've been hiding something like this from me..." He paced to the window and let his head drop forward to rest on the cool surface with a dull thump. He breathed out a shuddering sigh, his breath fogging on the window. That realization sat like a lump of undigested gristle in his gut. "I don't know how you just managed to say what you just said with a straight face and without choking. I really don't."

"Carth..." Revan said, and he heard a hint of uncertainty in her voice for the first time since this conversation started, "I thought what I was doing was right. Dustil's anger was with me, and what I was. He should not... associate that with you." Her voice firmed. "I'm not sorry for making him choose."

Carth gripped the windowsill hard, until his arms shook with the force he was exerting. "Revan... this wouldn't have hurt so much if you had just told me."

"I didn't tell you because I knew how upset you would be. I was afraid you might go and take out your anger on Dustil, at a time when you wouldn't be any too calm. Because I didn't want what fragile foundations you'd rebuilt of your relationship with Dustil to be destroyed all in one blow, because of me," Revan said in that infernally calm voice.

"Maybe you're right about me flying off the handle if I'd known about it immediately." He turned to see that Revan was pinching the bridge of her nose, her hair falling forward to hide her face, as if she had a headache to match his. "But you've had all this time to tell me... why didn't you? Why did I have to learn about this from my son, and while he was throwing it into my face, at that?"

"Because it was a conversation I'd decided to keep in confidence, Carth," Revan replied unflinchingly.

"Really?" Carth straightened up and wheeled around to face her. "_What else? What else have you been hiding from me_?" he asked, his voice taut with anger. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached, and his hands curled into tight fists again.

"That's all, Carth. I swear," Revan replied in a composed voice.

The sight of her looking so damned... _serene_ was really getting on his nerves. He turned back around to the window and stared blindly at his reflection, feeling some of the anger leak away, leaving weariness and a kind of soul-sick disappointment in its wake.

"You lied to me, Revan," Carth said wearily to the window. "You lied to me by omission even if you never lied to me with untruths."

There was silence for a several long moments, heavy and fraught with unsaid accusations that were louder than shouts.

"It may be that I lied," Revan said slowly, with unnatural calmness.

"There's no '_may be_' about it!" Carth snarled hotly, his temper flaring up again.

"But maybe it's because I respect Dustil's privacy and held our conversation in confidence." Revan's voice was growing more and more quiet, more and more calm until it had less inflection than a droid's. Alarms rang in the back of his head, but they were muffled through his anger, and he ignored them.

Carth's hands gripped the windowsill until his fingers and arms ached, and the wood creaked a protest. His mind was temporarily frozen at her totally unapologetic words and tone, so much so he could not even splutter.

Neither of them said anything more, but the silence was full of words unsaid. She had her back to him; he had his back to her. He glanced over his shoulder; she sat on the edge of the bed, back ramrod straight, her hair spilling unbound down her back.

"Perhaps," Revan said, with no more emotion or inflection than a droid, "if you started thinking more calmly instead of acting like an overprotective father--"

"Oh, so now I'm overreacting, is that it?" Carth growled, turning around.

Revan continued as if he hadn't interrupted her, "--You'd realize why I had to do it."

"You should know by now that what any of you _Jedi_," he spat the word, watching as her eyes narrowed, "do is completely incomprehensible to me. I mean, who the hell am I, after all? I'm just a retired soldier. Oh, and I'm just Dustil's _father_." He threw up his arms. "How the hell should _I_ know anything?"

Carth paced from one end of the room to the other, his hands clasped tightly around each other behind his back, so that he wouldn't be tempted to break any of their furnishings.

"I told you, I had no idea Dustil was going to do what he did, but when I realized what was happening, it occurred to me that it would make a good test. It forced him to confront me, to see who I am now and what I was," Revan said, her voice and eyes faraway, not watching him pace. "It was going to happen, sooner or later. Better for it to happen at a time and place of my choosing, when Dustil's mind was clear and relatively unfogged by anger."

Carth closed his eyes. Her reasonable tone of voice was really, really irritating. And he was extremely tired of hearing it, wishing she'd show some reaction other than that damned serenity. He opened his eyes and stopped in front of her. "How do you expect me to go into House Sayir, knowing Dustil tried to kill you, not once, but twice?" he asked, looking down at the top of Revan's head.

"So are we back to this, now?" Revan asked in reply, lips stiff. Before he could ask in some bewilderment what she meant, she continued. "Back to whether you can trust me or not?" she added bitterly.

"Well, can I?" he retorted. "Dammit, Revan, look at me!" he demanded, tired of talking to the top of her head.

Revan paused, then looked slowly up at him. And he was sorry he'd wished for some reaction other than calm from her. Her eyes were colder than Hoth's blizzards, and her face was a stiff mask. She hadn't looked that pissed off, and pissed off at _him_, in a very long time.

"Do you believe you can watch Dustil and I forever? Do you really think I would do something to harm him?" Revan asked icily. Carth thought he saw hurt mingle with the anger, but it was very hard to tell what was going on behind those blast doors of her eyes.

"If you really think that, what am I doing here?" Revan asked. "Who am I trying to fool?" He must've truly agitated her, because she couldn't keep her statue stillness any longer; she got up to look out the window as blindly as he had earlier, putting the bed between them.

Carth ran both his hands through his hair in agitation. "Dammit, woman, I didn't mean it that way!" His hands clenched, frustration mounting at not finding the right words.

Her eyes swung back to him like turbolasers on a turret. "Then what _did_ you mean?" she asked acerbically, her hands resting on her belt in a deceptively relaxed pose. Carth thought it was an unconscious gesture, but her hands were also quite near where her lightsabers usually dangled from clips. No doubt about it, she was well and truly pissed.

But so was he.

"I _mean_, I don't like you playing these, these Jedi _games_ with Dustil!" he shouted. "And I don't want you playing these games anymore!" he continued a little more calmly, though just barely.

Her eyes flashed at him. "I told you, it was _not_ a game! It was all in quite deadly earnest! What you still don't seem to understand is that it wasn't some elaborate, baroque plot on my part to commit suicide!" she snapped. She stopped, taking a deep breath, and looked back out the window. Her lips moved; it looked like she was reciting the Jedi Code to herself.

"Dustil has been trained to use his emotions like weapons, especially anger and hatred," Revan continued more calmly, after a few moments had passed. "What I did was bring a sort of focus to those emotions, but without letting them run rampant. As you saw in the exercise room, when they _did_ run rampant."

"Is that why you kept Dustil from hurting you that time in the exercise room, but not on the rooftop?" he asked quietly, looking at her profile.

"Dustil was more or less calm on the rooftop, and in full possession of all his wits and his mind, which he wasn't when he attacked me in the exercise room," Revan replied, sounding as tired as he felt. "That time, he had been so wrapped up in his hatred, I could _feel_ the anger pouring off him. If I had given him the choice then, it would've truly pushed him into the Dark Side. And it was pretty obvious he was going to do his best to kill me, whereas he hadn't been thinking quite so unclearly on the rooftop. He was merely... indecisive."

She glanced at him. "I'm not sorry I did it, because it was worth it to me to see that Dustil didn't pull the trigger, when he had ample reason to, and the means."

Carth wiped his face, turning around to stare blindly at the wall, hands gripping each other tightly behind his back. "The risks you take, Revan, make my hair stand on end," he said in a tight voice. "I don't know how I'm supposed to be able to do my job when Dustil could take it into his head to try to kill you anytime he gets angry." He watched the shifting shadow she cast on the wall.

"Dammit, Carth, have you not heard a single thing I said?" Revan asked exasperatedly, spinning around. "He won't try it anymore! That time on the rooftop was a turning point, don't you see?"

Carth spun to face her. "If it was so much of a turning point, how come he tried it again?" he retorted acidly.

Revan waved that incident aside irritably. "That was caused by delayed shock, from your meeting on Korriban, the attempted assassination at the spaceport, finding out who I really am and the fact that I'm your lover."

A pained breath puffed from his lips at hearing Revan speak so... calmly about it. He stared at her, not quite willing to believe his ears. "Dustil tried to kill you a second time, and you're just dismissing it?"

"Would you rather he had a nervous breakdown instead?" Revan asked dryly, raising an eyebrow. She sat down again on the edge of the bed.

"He wouldn't have been able to kill you if he had a nervous breakdown." Carth ran his hand through his hair again, resisting the urge to pull it. If he kept doing that, he would end up with significantly less of it by the time they finally rendezvoused with the task force.

"Look, just tell me it won't happen again, alright?" he said wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I can't guarantee that, Carth," she said, shaking her head. "If you've been paying any attention at all, Dustil's been the one who started things, not me.

"Dustil is sixteen, Carth," Revan continued. "You yourself said he's a man now. He has a right to his privacy, and the conversation on the rooftop was between two adults. It was none of your business, and it was strictly between Dustil and myself. I'm sorry you're hurt that it happened at all, but I'm not sorry I gave him the choice. And I'm not sorry at all that I didn't tell you."

Carth moved to the window and closed his eyes again, leaning his forehead against it, gripping the windowsill. Then he forced himself to relax his hands, his fingers tingling with the return of circulating blood, his abused right hand twinging. "Damn you, Revan. Damn you and your Jedi ways and your damned control and your damned _diplomacy_." He said that last word like someone might have said 'shit'.

The temperature in the room suddenly seemed to plunge to the freezing mark. There was silence again, except for the sound of air leaking sharply from Revan's nostrils, as if she had just been sucker punched.

"If you don't like Jedi so much, why do you have one for a lover?" Revan asked, after several minutes had passed. Not even Bastila had ever sounded so cold. Her voice could've frozen helium. "Oh, and by the way, you _have_ noticed that Dustil wants to be one, right?" Sarcasm dripped from her caustic words and froze into icicles. Her hair fell forward, hiding her face, as she looked down at the hands she had folded in her lap.

"Maybe I shouldn't have," Carth said, and immediately regretted the words as soon as they came out. He spun around, his hands groping in the air as if he might snatch them back. "No! No, Revan, I'm sorry, I, I didn't mean that!" Anger completely forgotten, he took two hasty strides and grabbed her shoulders. Unable to see her lowered face, he knelt in front of her, looking up.

Her face, what he could see of it behind the concealing curtain of her hair, was like stone, and about as expressionless. She didn't look at him.

"Revan, please, I, I didn't mean it--" he said again. She hadn't looked like that since he'd done the next best thing to accusing her of intending to betray him like Saul, all the long while ago on Dantooine. He looked down; her hands clenched each other, and her knuckles were white. "Revan...?" he said tentatively, brushing aside her hair so that he could see her more clearly.

Eyes like blaster muzzles transfixed him like stakes. He swallowed in a throat gone as dry as the Dune Seas.

"Maybe the Jedi Council was right. Maybe a Jedi shouldn't love. Because then it wouldn't hurt so much," she said through stiff lips.

Carth flinched.

Revan knocked his hands away and stood, then sat back down at the console. The sounds of keys being tapped filled the room, all the more loudly for the sudden silence.

Carth clenched his hands on the sheets of the mattress, cursing himself for having a mouth that apparently ran independently of his brain. With just a few wrong words he was suddenly in the wrong. Dammit, how the _hell_ did she do that?

Of course, she hadn't made him utter those damned, ill-considered words, had she. He'd done that all by himself, no one had stuck his foot in his mouth but he. He let his head fall forward onto the softness of the bed.

_Damn it all to hell_.

Why did he never _think_ before he spoke?

A datapad was plopped down in front of him. He raised his head, but Revan had already turned back.

"I suggest you read that datapad and memorize its contents. I also suggest you take the time to scuff your armor up and make sure it looks like it belongs to someone of meager means. The down-on-his-luck mercenary you're supposed to play shouldn't look as if he's wearing armor that's worth the equivalent of a small starship," Revan said frostily, speaking to him without bothering to turn her head.

Well, that was as clear a dismissal as any. His jaw tightened. As if he were some young errant schoolboy called in front of the teacher's desk. His hands gripped the datapad hard enough for it to creak.

"Fine," he bit out. She didn't answer, ignoring him as if he were of no more consequence than a doorstop.

He stalked out without another word.

* * *

Updated Sep. 25, 2004: Changed the bit where Carth kneels so that it's clearer why he's doing it. Thanks for the feedback, guys, even if you do make me tear my hair out, sometimes. :)

With thanks to athenaprime, Hobnob-rev, schmoopy, Feza, Nyv, thesnowman, Prisoner24601 for beta reading this chapter and helping me brainstorm. You guys rock. My sincere apologies if I've missed anyone. Any mistakes I've made are mine, not theirs.

Special thanks must go out to Sera Terranova, without whom this chapter wouldn't exist. Would you believe it totally didn't occur to me to have a big fight between Carth and Revan after Carth's conversation with Dustil? I'm so stoopid.

Arrikazza: Thanks. Ouch, hurricane? Suck. Glad you're still alive and everything's more or less back to normal for you. :) Enjoy Angry!Carth in this chapter. :)

VMorticia: Yes, Carth in fuzzy pink slippers and an apron and nothing else... :dreamy sigh: Excuse me, I have to have some time alone right now... :D And I think Carth can be pretty damned dangerous enough without being turned to the Dark Side...

Feza: Well, you'll find out what Carth's gonna think in this chapter...

Rascarin: Here you go!

sammie teufel: :grins: Enjoy. :)

Ceridan: Heh.

ether-fanfic: Thank you very much. :)

arrow maker, Prisoner 24601: Thanks. :)

gamorrean princess: Thanks for the kind words. Glad you're liking Dustil. He's giving me a boatload of trouble... And if you read carefully, Carth wasn't choosing one over the other. He was just mighty pissed. Good luck with classes. :)

Lunatic Pandora1: ... Please tell me you're joking... :fires up the chainsaw...:


	43. Walls

**Chapter 43: Walls**

Carth came out of the bedroom, once again restraining himself from stomping. That Revan had been right about disguising his armor, and that he hadn't thought of it himself, only made his temper worse. He was sure it would've occurred to him eventually, if he hadn't been distracted by first Dustil, then Revan.

He ripped open the armory footlocker they kept weapons, tools and a box of odds, ends and all sorts of junk, collected from their adventures. The lid fell back, bouncing and banging on the side from the force of his violent swipe. He took out the box and tools, laying aside a calibrator so that he would remember to give it to Dustil. Then he went to the closet to fetch his armor.

One good thing about this task: it would be exacting work that would take all of his concentration and attention, if he didn't want to short-circuit something or break his very expensive armor beyond repair. He glanced at the time display; it would be several long hours before dinner. He set to work.

After a couple of hours, Carth was finished. He stretched cramped muscles and rolled shoulders that had been still for far too long in a hunched-over position. He found himself to be a bit more calmer now, at least, but still angry at Revan's presumption. It simmered in his gut rather than setting his blood pressure galloping and head pounding with a headache.

He looked down at his handiwork; his heavy exoskeleton, once nearly pristine with its sparse, utilitarian lines, now looked quite horrible. He'd had a devil of a time adding fake repair patches to it without his work hindering movement or shorting out servos and circuitry, but now no one would know it was nearly brand new, and had cost Revan a medium-sized fortune. He put it on to try it out, adjusting and readjusting straps and patches as necessary. Then he took it back off again, fastening the changes in place more securely with epoxy.

And then he had nothing more to do but clean up the table, put away the tools, put his armor back into the closet and sweep the junk and oddments he hadn't used back into the box.

Carth paced back and forth, still too pissed off to stay still. Too much energy pent up inside. All of his thoughts that he'd shelved to concentrate on working on his armor came rushing back into his head. _Damn, damn, damn_.

He wondered if he really was overreacting, as he paced around the living room table in precise steps. One, two, three, four, pivot and turn, one, two, three, four... Didn't he have a right to know? But, dammit, he was Dustil's _father_, for crying out loud! He clenched his teeth and gripped his hands behind his back. Surely he had some sort of, of _say_ in these things, dammit! _Something_.

It all came back to 'Revan should have told him'. Carth rubbed at his brow with his index and middle fingers, feeling that headache coming back. On the one hand, Dustil was sixteen, and would be accounted a man back on Telos, of age to join the militia or the Republic Fleet, or the Republic Army. Which meant Dustil did have a right to his privacy, as Revan had told Carth repeatedly.

But... Revan should have told him! Dammit. He ran a hand through his hair as he paced. If she had just told him a day later, he would be more understanding... But after all these weeks? Didn't she trust him to keep a lid on his own emotions? To deal with Dustil? Dustil was _his_ son, dammit, not hers.

Carth realized he was nearly stomping around the table now, and his knuckles hurt from having the skin stretched taut over them, he was clenching his hands into such tight fists. Damn, he was getting wound up again. He had to do something to let off steam or he would wind up breaking things.

He could go out to a cantina and damned well _drink_ himself calm. And get into a bar brawl. It was certainly a surefire way of relieving at least some of his frustration. He shook his head when he found himself seriously contemplating doing just that. With some regret, he set aside that idea. If it had just been he alone, he would've done it, but coming back falling-down drunk and with signs of a fight on him... Well, that would hardly make him look like any sort of a role model for Dustil.

Carth passed by the table again, and his idle eyes were caught by the bright little hotel flyer, folded on a platter. He snatched it up, more as a distraction than anything else. It was unexciting reading, just a listing of all the amenities the hotel provided to its guests... Then his eyes fell on 'fully-equipped exercise rooms'.

Just the thing. He put the flyer back down and went out to find one of those rooms. They had weights in their suite, too, for their daily workouts, but the suite, which he used to think of as large, was now suddenly stifling and confining. He needed to get _out_.

There were a few of the other hotel patrons in the exercise room, but apparently one look at his scowling, scarred face was enough to make them find other pursuits, very far away from him. He couldn't find it in himself to mind. Solitude suited him. He'd already had his workout this morning, but he need _something_ to distract him and tire himself out.

Still fuming, Carth grabbed up a weight and shoved it onto the end of a waiting barbell, the loud clang echoing loudly around the empty exercise room. The room was small compared to the one he used to use on Coruscant. He shoved another weight onto the other end before he started to do his warm-ups.

Carth wondered what the hell Revan was thinking, using that tactic with Dustil. He still couldn't get over the fact that she was so damned calm about it. He sat and stretched his legs. It couldn't be natural. Didn't she know how crazy he'd be if anyone had harmed a single hair on her head? And if he'd found that it'd been Dustil who'd hurt her... He shuddered, thinking about the possibilities. They all seemed to prominently feature himself beating Dustil to a pulp.

He finished his warm-ups. He chalked up his hands, slowly and methodically, making sure his palms and fingers were completely covered. Then he lay back on the bench and took a firm hold on the molded plastic grip of the barbell. He grunted as he took the weight off the stand and onto his hands and arms.

Carth let his arms take over while his mind chewed on his conversations with Dustil and Revan. Revan's method seemed incredibly insane, but very... Jedi-like. Betting everything on a huge gamble was a tactic that certainly sounded familiar. The Jedi seemed to be very fond of it.

He frowned, ignoring the sweat that was beginning to pour off his brow and trickle down his temples, as he wondered why Revan would pick such a Jedi-like approach. She was trained to be a diplomat; there had to be any number of ways to get the same result without risking her life like that. Or risking _Dustil_ like that. She was, in fact, acting like a Jedi more than she ever had during their adventures, although she may have just done that to spite Bastila. It was entirely in keeping with Revan's personality to act as unJedi-like as possible, the more she was pushed to do it.

Carth's lips curled up against his will, remembering just how Revan had driven Bastila up the wall. He couldn't complain he'd been singled out; Revan drove everyone insane indiscriminately.

His smile faded and his lips thinned as he continued to pick at the problem. Granted, she had to have been taken completely by surprise by Dustil's blaster, but he'd seen her talk her way out of even worse spots. A blaster held to her head couldn't stop her mouth... nor her ability to use the Force. And yet Dustil had told him she had neither spoken, nor had she used the Force in her own defense.

Carth realized he was panting now, and his arms ached. He put the barbell back on the stand and sat up with an effort. Looking at his chrono, he found he must've been exercising for an hour, which explained his aching arms, hands, shoulders and back. He got up absently from the bench and walked around to cool off, so that his muscles wouldn't stiffen. He continued to mull things over as he stretched his arms and rubbed his hands; the sweat had collected in his palms and stuck the chalk together in little gritty granules.

If it had been anyone else who'd just threatened Revan with a blaster, Carth was pretty sure she would've had that person in Force stasis before one could even blink. So it followed that Dustil was a special case. Obviously. He snorted at himself as he paced, walking a winding path around exercise equipment.

Revan had to be feeling guilty every time she looked at Dustil, he mused. No, he _knew_ she felt guilty. Hell, she still felt guilty for being with _him_, even after all the assurances he'd made to her after so long. Carth swept a hand through his sweat-stiffened hair, leaving chalky white streaks, and frowned. Had it been some kind of... offer, then? His face grew tight, remembering.

_ My life is yours, to do with as you wish. Live or die. And wash away my sins for me, or not, as you will. Whenever, wherever, it is your right. _

Carth walked back to the suite, still pondering. Maybe she thought making the same offer to Dustil that she'd made to Carth would somehow lessen the guilt. Revan's idea of honor resembled the Mandalorian and Wookiee equivalent that way; it was some kind of a life-for-a-life trade. He scratched his chin thoughtfully as he palmed the door open. But if she _did_ think of it that way, surely saving Dustil's life at the spaceport had balanced things out. But then... maybe she thought that wasn't enough.

Carth stepped into the refresher, stripped off his boots, then his sweat-sodden clothes, and dropped them into the cleaning hamper, where they would be clean after he finished showering. Moving on autopilot, he stepped under the spray of water, turning it absentmindedly to the hottest setting.

Maybe this was part of some kind of weird Jedi training he didn't know about. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been in the dark regarding Jedi training practices. He scowled, letting the hot spray pound his back and the back of his head, the steam obscuring his vision. If it was, it was something _else_ Revan hadn't told him about. But, no, he thought, scrubbing furiously. If that were true, Revan would've told him; she'd said there was nothing else. Sworn it, in fact.

His ingrained paranoia whispered insidiously, telling him if she could've hidden something like the magnitude of the rooftop incident from him, why not something else? Carth shook that thought away, shaking his head so vigorously drops of water were flung from his wet hair to spatter onto the tiles. If she'd sworn something, she stood by it; she had never knowingly lied to him with untruths, though he had just discovered she could lie to him by omission.

And she wasn't Dustil's Master, anyway; she wasn't the sort to overstep her bounds on a matter like this. She'd even told him why she couldn't teach Dustil. His scowl eased, turning into a frown. He discarded the Jedi training idea. It had to be something else, but he was damned if he could figure it out right now. He kept getting the feeling he was missing the forest for the trees.

He stepped out of the shower and dried himself, then dressed. He took the time to shave, taking some small comfort in the simple, routine task. If Revan was going to be applying a new layer of cosmetic over the old, he'd better make sure there was a clean canvas, so to speak. He resigned himself to a few days of itching. Oh, well. It couldn't be any worse than wearing full heavy armor while running around in the Dune Seas of Tatooine.

Carth stepped out of the refresher, feeling a bit calmer now, but still angry at Revan. Just in time for dinner.

And dinner was a terribly tense affair.

Dustil took one look at both of their faces and proceeded to inhale his food before retreating back to his room as fast as he could, leaving Carth and Revan alone. Dustil had looked sullenly at him whenever Carth tried to catch his eye. He couldn't really blame Dustil; no one had spoken. Usually they talked about what they'd been doing, and since they'd become embroiled in Sluis Van politics, they'd talked about the Houses and the volatile situation on the planet. But tonight he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't come out angry and accusing.

Instead, silence reigned, unnatural and oppressive. The tension was thick enough to carve into tangible blocks. Revan ate as mechanically as she'd spoken to him earlier. Carth watched while each fork, each knife was placed just so, used precisely and efficiently, as if she were eating at a very formal dinner, instead of the comfortable, relaxed meal they usually had. His own no doubt excellent meal could have tasted like ashes for all the attention he paid to it.

Carth grimaced when dinner was finally, thankfully over, knowing what was coming next. Revan handed two bottles brusquely to Carth when JC-01 had finished clearing the table.

"Here. This one," Revan said, holding up a gray-colored bottle, "is skin dye." She held up the blue-colored bottle. "This is for your hair." Her voice was even, giving nothing away, neither anger, irritation nor annoyance. Her face was just as inscrutable.

Carth opened his mouth to say something, anything, though he didn't know what, but Revan had already turned her back to him. He fumed quietly at the cavalier dismissal, his hands gripping the bottles tightly. Revan was now back in their bedroom, where he could hear mysterious clanks and clinking. The rest of the torture implements, he thought glumly. He suppressed an impotent growl, though what he was going to say or do about it, he didn't know. He was not, dammit, going to sulk like a delinquent schoolboy, he thought irritably as he went into the refresher again.

When he'd finished applying everything, he looked with some dismay at his now pasty-white complexion and dun-colored hair. He looked like a Dark Jedi who'd walked the path of the Dark Side all the way down to its end. He wrinkled his nose at his reflection, wondering if this was some sort of joke or prank Revan was playing on him in revenge. He discarded that thought; Revan's sense of humor dwindled to nothing when she was this pissed off. He sighed his resignation; at least she hadn't turned him into a Twi'lek dancing girl or a Gamorrean.

Carth left the refresher to see that Revan had prepared everything on the living room table. Jars containing murky, arcane substances were lined up neatly on one side, some other strange tubes and smaller bottles lying next to them. He sat down in the chair Revan pointed wordlessly to; the back of it had been lowered as much as it could go. She had been solicitous enough to choose the most comfortable one in their suite, at least.

Before she started, she brushed her fingers through his hair, closely inspecting the work he'd done with the hair dye. Normally her touch was a caress; this time it was just business-like and professional. Carth restrained himself from sighing, and tamped down irritation that she thought he hadn't done a good job of it. He couldn't see the back of his head, after all; he might've missed a spot.

Apparently satisfied, she turned and scooped a large dollop of goop up from a jar and put the cold mess onto his face. It started itching badly the moment it touched his skin. Carth dug his fingernails into the armrests of his chair to stop himself from reaching up to scratch. He closed his eyes, feeling her cool fingers shaping the lump and spreading it onto his nose, forehead and cheeks.

"Isn't there something you can do about this damned itching?" he growled through gritted teeth, disgruntled.

"No. Stop being such a baby," Revan replied, patently unsympathetic.

Carth sighed inwardly. A comment like that would have usually invited a sarcastic remark from him that would make her laugh, but he couldn't come up with anything to say this time that wouldn't sound like whining. He gritted his teeth, and endured as best he could, trying not to feel as if he were also sulking.

The whole thing was done in complete silence, except when she patiently told him to stop clenching his jaw, several times. He was obscurely glad he didn't have to speak; he was, in fact, not supposed to, since his moving mouth would interrupt her work.

He opened his eyes again when it appeared that she was finished with him. The cosmetic goop stopped itching when it dried, fortunately for his continued sanity. He looked up to see Revan with her back turned to him. From the sloshing and clinking sounds, she was mixing something.

"You're finished?" Carth asked, then stopped, a little startled by how his voice sounded a little different. He raised a hand to touch his face, then stopped, not knowing if the stuff had fully dried yet. He decided to err on the side of caution; he didn't want to sit through another hour while she fixed any damage he might do.

"No," Revan said shortly. She turned back, and he blinked at the large, elaborate syringe in her hand. It looked like a primitive torture implement. "It's a color injector," she explained. At his alarmed and dubious look, a corner of her mouth twitched up, then twitched back down. She elaborated. "I'm going to apply a tattoo to your face. Don't worry, it won't penetrate your skin."

Damn, he'd been hoping she was finished. "Is this going to take much longer?" he asked peevishly, sitting back again.

"No." Revan tugged at his collar; Carth couldn't help the tiny shiver that ran up his spine at her touch. "Take off your shirt; it's going to extend down your neck from your face to end at your bicep." She demonstrated, her finger circling a spot on his cheek, trailing down his neck, then to his shoulder, deltoid, to his bicep.

Carth tried not to show how pleasurable her touch was. Even when he was pissed at her he was still conscious of her nearness, which just made him more irritable. He unfastened his tunic reluctantly. "Do I need to look so damned... flamboyant?" he asked skeptically.

"You'll look completely opposite of what you usually appear," she replied. "The idea is for one version of you to stick in people's minds, so that when you shed this disguise, it will seem as if you had disappeared into thin air." Her voice was completely neutral, with not a hint of her usual humor; he couldn't read anything in it.

"I just don't like being stared at," Carth muttered. "Or looking like such an easy target."

"Deal with it," Revan said quellingly.

Carth guessed the tattoo was supposed to make him look tough. _He_ would certainly be wary of someone who was tough and brave enough--or insane enough--to have the sensitive skin of their face and neck tattooed. He closed his eyes and waited with some trepidation as Revan held the injector, which looked like a gun in her small hand, to his face. Her other hand grasped his chin firmly to hold his head still. Expecting it to hurt, he was surprised to find it tickled instead, as a tiny stream of coloring liquid sprayed onto the skin of his forehead, over his right brow. It would've been almost pleasant, except that it was cold.

Carth's fingers gripped the armrests tightly as he felt the stream hit his skin, moving back and forth. He could hear the clicks and minute hum of the injector's tiny motor, louder clicks when Revan switched cylinders to change to another color. He could smell the scent of her perfume, standing so closely as she was, and from the hand that gripped his chin. The spray moved across his brow, looping coolly on his temple, then back again. It was strangely hypnotic.

Carth cracked open his left eye to a narrow slit. Revan stood over him, her face blank with concentration as she moved his face this way and that very slightly with her hand.

All of a sudden he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and pull her down onto his lap, cosmetic treatment be damned. Doing that would no doubt mess up the careful, meticulous work she'd started, but he was damned tired of this frigid cold barrier that was now between them.

_ I'm sorry you're hurt that it happened at all, but I'm not sorry I gave him the choice. And I'm not sorry at all that I didn't tell you. _

Carth stiffened, and his hands gripped the armrests hard enough for them to squeal a small protest. Revan's eyes flickered, and her fingers tightened for a second on his chin before relaxing again, so quickly he thought he might've imagined it. Revan began painting his cheek as if nothing at all had happened. And nothing _had_ happened.

Carth clenched his teeth together, feeling a muscle jump in his jaw, and closed his left eye. Her hand released his chin when she began working her way down from his jawline to his neck, tilting his head back by pushing gently against his brow with her cool fingers. He obliged and opened his eyes again, though he had to remain still.

The spray tickled coldly against the side of his neck, making it hard for him to remain immobile. He brooded as he stared at the opposite wall. Dammit, he _knew_ he was right. Which didn't explain why he felt like _he_ should be the one apologizing. And he was damned if he was going to do that. So he said nothing, and neither did she, as her free hand moved from his head to rest lightly on his collarbone, the spray flicking back and forth, up and down, progressing along his right trapezius muscle.

He wondered why the tattoo had to be so... extravagant. It was safer to wonder about that than... anything else. It didn't seem to serve any purpose other than making him sit still for a few hours. What was the likelihood of anyone seeing him with his armor off? Although he supposed he might have to use communal showers.

Revan was inking his deltoid now; he moved his head to watch, and she didn't protest at his lack of stillness. Her fingers brushed caressingly on his shoulder; his fingernails bit sharply into the plush armrests. She probably hadn't meant anything by it, since her entire attention was taken up with her work. The thought did not give him any particular comfort.

Carth examined what he could see of her work; sky blue and bloodred ink stood out starkly against his now pale white skin. She was carefully painting the outlines of feathers in broad, bold strokes, staining his flesh a rich carmine. He kept himself from twitching as the colored ink puffed and dried quickly under the cool air coming from the vents.

He wished he had the right words to say. _Something_ that would break this damned uncomfortable silence. He looked up into Revan's face, bent so closely to his; her brow was furrowed slightly in concentration, but there didn't seem to be any other emotion on her visage. Her Pazaak face was firmly in place. He racked his brain in frustration, but came up with absolutely nothing.

When she finally finished, he still had not found anything to say, no words that might repair things, even if it was just by a little bit.

"Let it dry for a moment," Revan said, breaking the silence as she spoke for the first time in two hours. She started taking the color injector apart, carefully recapping the ink cylinders and putting them into a case. "Then you can put your shirt back on."

"Revan," Carth began, again startling himself with his own odd-sounding voice.

"Yes?" Revan prompted, her tone bland as she turned away to pack the equipment into a box.

Carth opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, to find that there were no words he could think of. "Uh. Nothing. Nevermind." He cursed himself for a tongue-tied fool.

"Very well," she said, closing the lid of the case. She headed for their bedroom, not looking back.

And still he said nothing. He swiped both hands through his hair, angry at himself, at his total inability to express himself. Slamming his fists down hard onto the armrests, he propelled himself out of the chair with a bound, and went to the refresher to inspect his new disguise.

By the time he came back out a few minutes later, Revan was gone. Their suite was not so big that she could hide... Hiding, in any case, was not in her nature. He went to their bedroom. No Revan.

Carth frowned, contemplating the empty bed with a sinking heart, noticing that Revan's guitar case was on the floor, not racked messily with her other belongings. Damn. He wasn't surprised, exactly, though he couldn't help feeling... hurt. The words they'd shouted at each other earlier still seemed to hang in the air in silent echoes.

He inhaled; her fragrance still lingered in the room. He walked over to the window and depressed the button for it to open. The sounds of the Transients Dome poured in, along with the night smells and cool air as the window slid silently upwards. Resting his knuckles on the sill, he put his weight on them, leaning his head outside to stare down at the blinking lights. There was no natural wind in the habitats, but the air did seem cooler.

Carth turned his head, hearing the faint, melancholy strains of a guitar, coming from the roof. He'd been hearing it for several moments, but it hadn't penetrated his awareness until now. It had to be Revan.

His heart squeezed for a moment, realizing what that meant. Revan went to the highest point anywhere she could reach only when she was greatly distressed. So, she was more bothered by their conversation than she'd let on. He felt a twinge of guilt that he'd agitated her so much... along with a feeling of bitter satisfaction, followed immediately by shame, that he could be so petty. He twisted his head around to look up, but he couldn't see her, only hear her.

_ "I have continued searching for you,  
Though I know not your name,  
Because I wanted to share  
This feeling with you. _

_ Time envelops both love and pain,  
Until they fade away.  
But I still remember them  
And always will. _

_ Though I cannot remember when,  
A whisper began echoing  
Deep within my heart,  
Fainter than drops of evening dew.  
_

_ May this prayer I spin  
Weave through the darkness of my frozen stars  
And reach the skies above you,  
So far away." _

Carth gripped the sill hard, his fingers biting painfully into the wood. She'd sounded so... sad, as she sang. Her guitar accompaniment had only accentuated the loneliness and pain in her voice.

_This is ridiculous_, he thought. _We've been through so much... am I just going to let something like this break us up?_ He turned away from the open window and headed for the door. 

Carth reached out for the door controls.

_ I'm not sorry for making him choose. _

His hand opened. Closed. Fell back to his side.

Carth whirled around, both hands running through his hair, and once again contemplated the bed. The very empty bed. He rubbed at his face, wondering tiredly how Revan managed to drive him crazy when she wasn't even physically present.

_Enough of this, Onasi. You've got an early day tomorrow._ His hands clenched into fists for a moment, before he forcibly relaxed them.

Carth called on the ability all soldiers developed, of sleeping anytime, anywhere, no matter what was happening. Or not happening. The empty space beside him was like an accusation.

A while later, he was still staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. He turned his head, his unblinking eyes staring at the time display; it had been an hour since he'd settled himself in bed.

Revan had not come back. And he couldn't hear her singing anymore. Damn.

He opened the bedside table and took out a sedative. He stared at it in the dim radiance created from light reflected on the walls of the bedroom from outside; he'd never needed one before. He injected himself with it, jaw clenching at the tiny prickling of the needle as it broke his skin, and depressed the plunger.

He fell asleep after a few moments, helped reluctantly along by chemicals, surrounded by the scent of flowers and citron spice.

Carth woke up when the alarm went off in the middle of the night. It was the best time for him to leave by the hotel's back way in his new guise. Revan had not returned in all that time; he couldn't hear any music drifting from the window he'd left open. He sighed, feeling the emptiness in the room, in the bed, like a palpable, tangible thing.

He got up from the damnably empty bed and headed for the refresher, the thin carpet tickling his bare feet. She wasn't in the living room, either. He hadn't thought she would be, but he'd hoped. He passed by the shadowy bulks of the recharging droids; they looked like shapeless, fat cargo containers in the darkness.

He took a quick shower, trying to get used to his new complexion, and put on the new contacts that would turn his eyes hazel. He shook his head at his reflection, and his reflection shook its head back at him. His new disguise would definitely take some getting used to, he thought, as he donned his now patchy armor.

Carth stepped out of the refresher, and looked around the hotel room that'd been home for the last week or so, as he pulled on his jacket. Everything was tidy and clean, except for the one thing that made this place, that made _any_ place, home with her presence.

Revan wasn't there to see him off.

Pain fisted inside his chest. He shrugged it off, checking the charges on his blasters before he slid them home into his wrist holsters. He buckled one sword to his back, a shorter one to his waist. He sucked in a huge breath of the air into his chest; her flowery, herbal scent lingered faintly in the living room, still. Then he stooped to grab up his battered duffel, filled with carefully selected items and clothes any bounty hunter or mercenary would carry or wear.

Carth nearly knocked down Dustil when he stepped out into the hall. He grabbed Dustil's shoulder to steady him as Dustil staggered back in surprise. "Dustil? What're you doing here?" Carth blurted in his baffled surprise.

Dustil's eyes were riveted, unsurprisingly, to the bird of prey tattoo on Carth's right cheek, and took a step back, away from him. "Wow. I didn't think it was possible for you to look any more dangerous and, um, ugly," Dustil said wonderingly, looking Carth up and down.

An involuntary smile quirked Carth's lips. "Why, thank you for the compliment, son," he said dryly, hefting the duffel to his shoulder.

"What'd you do to your _armor_?" Dustil asked, staring at the patches visible through Carth's open jacket.

"I'm supposed to be too poor to afford armor that costs over fifteen thousand credits, Dustil. I had to make it look grubby and worn," Carth replied, amused at the horrified tone that'd been in his son's voice. He wasn't surprised; his work would offend anyone who'd seen what his exoskeleton had looked like before. "Dustil, what're you doing up so late?"

Dustil rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I, uh, I wanted to say goodbye to you. And... good luck." He shrugged irritably under Carth's disbelieving gaze. Then he held out his hand.

Carth stared at his son's outstretched hand. Slowly his own hand rose up, and clasped it firmly. "Thanks, Dustil," he said, his voice a trifle shaky. "I'll, uh, I'll see you soon, okay?" He clapped his other hand to Dustil's shoulder, and was again immensely pleased Dustil didn't shrug it off. He was greatly surprised that Dustil had actually waited up to see him off; he'd fully expected Dustil to still be sulking after their talk, but he supposed he'd underestimated his son.

"Dustil, remember what I said earlier," Carth said, feeling his face harden. He wished he didn't have to give Dustil this reminder, but his son had proven that he needed to give it.

Dustil scowled, but nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I got it," he said, a trifle sullenly. He let go of Carth's hand, and yawned pointedly.

Carth kept his sigh inward; his lips twitched at his son's own reminder, and let go of Dustil's shoulder. "Okay, okay, I get the hint. Good night, son. I'll see you in a few days." He suddenly remembered; he had nearly forgot. "Oh, and here." He took out the calibrator from a pocket and handed it to Dustil.

Dustil blinked at the calibrator in Carth's hand. "Oh. Uh, thanks." He stuffed the calibrator into a pocket, his face looking stiff, before retreating back into his own suite.

"Dustil."

Dustil turned back, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"Try to keep her out of trouble." Carth didn't know why he was asking that of his son, a boy--a _man_, he corrected himself sternly--who had tried to kill Revan twice. Revan's insanity must be rubbing off on him. Here he was, trusting his son with the safety of the woman he loved, when not too long ago, he had trusted no one and nothing, not even himself. _Especially_ not himself.

Dustil's eyes grew wide. Carth could see the emotions flickering clearly across his son's face. Shock, disbelief, and--_heh_--suspicion. Carth managed, he hoped, to keep his own face bland. _Hah, what do you think of _that_, son?_

A look of _Me and what army?_ flashed across and settled on Dustil's face. "What makes you think she'd listen to me?" Dustil asked warily, challengingly, his chin jerking up.

"She might. She might not. It's what makes living with her so damned interesting," Carth said amiably, his mouth curving into a tilted grin. "Give it a try."

Dustil looked at Carth as if he'd gone insane. Carth suppressed a laugh; maybe he had. "Okay," Dustil said uncertainly. "Uh, good night."

"Good night, son."

Carth looked around. Still Revan had not shown up. It didn't look like she was likely to, at this point. He tried to ignore how much that hurt as he headed for the emergency stairs in the back. He trotted unhurriedly down the dimly-lit steps, his duffel bouncing softly on his back, against his sword scabbard, with every step.

He had deliberately picked this route because he knew the emergency stairs' surveillance devices would be turned off for twenty minutes, plenty of time for him to get down to the ground floor and out the back way. Revan had sliced the hotel's security system the day they'd checked in, and had set the whole thing up.

Carth thought about the song he'd heard Revan sing, as he went around and around down along the stairs, and thought about how much he didn't want his last memory of her to be silence and cold words and shuttered eyes in a calm, controlled face. He didn't want to remember angry words said and hurtful words he couldn't take back.

_Too late_, his feet pounded. _Too late, too late, too late..._

He could still catch an elevator and go up to the rooftop. He was pretty sure that was where she still was, right now. But he continued to trot down, ever downwards, in the opposite direction, as if pulled and helpless in the grip of a tractor beam.

Carth was so lost in his thoughts he almost didn't see her. A motion in the shadows of an alcove on the ground floor, under the stairwell, caught his eye. His hand automatically reached for the sword at his waist, then fell back to his side when he saw who it was.

Revan stepped out of the shadows, guitar strapped across her back. Carth halted, then walked towards her. The scent of flower blossoms drifted towards his nose as he approached her. Eyes gleamed at him from within the darkness, and what light there was picked out highlights in her hair, and along the strings and tuning pegs of the guitar that rose over her shoulder like a sword hilt.

"You're here," Carth said softly, when he was close enough for her chest to brush against his jacket. "I... I didn't think you would come." He still couldn't quite believe it. He hadn't dared to hope, not when she hadn't been in their suite.

"I didn't, either," Revan said, just as softly.

Carth reached out and gently brushed an unruly bang out of her face with a finger. She watched him as he brushed the back of his finger along her soft, soft cheek, and she leaned into his caress.

He felt a cool hand brushing along his jaw one moment, then she was gone, as if she had never been. Only the lingering scent of blossoms and citron spice, and a dying breeze generated by her passage, told him she had not been just a figment of his imagination. And he remembered the fleeting glimpse of eyes with no artifice, no walls to hide her feelings from him, eyes filled with pain, regret, anxiety, hurt. Love. Along with the memory of her breath on his ear, ruffling his hair, whispering, "May the Force be with you. I certainly will."

Carth knew it was too late even as he wheeled around to face the stairs. Her name was on the tip of his tongue, and only the fact that there were surveillance devices just on the other side of the door leading to the lobby stopped him from calling her name. For a few seconds he stood rigid, torn between going after her, and... not going after her.

His decision, as always, was made quickly. He would mess up their carefully-laid plans to get him out unseen and undetected. He would be recorded if he went back up; the time limit had long since passed.

And he would be running after her, begging forgiveness, when he wasn't the one in the wrong.

His jaw tightened and his hands clenched into fists. He turned and headed down the narrow corridor, towards the back door that would open out into an alley, where he would catch one of the habitat's public transport modules towards the section of Transients Dome that contained the disreputable cantinas, and Sayir recruiters.

Carth did not look back.

* * *

Apologies for being a day late and a dollar short, folks; this chapter turned out to be a bit more difficult than I expected. I've also finished my second NC-17 rated KoTOR fic; it's a short story. Again, if you're interested, and you're age 18 and over, send me a private message either on the BioWare KoTOR forums, or kotorfanfic. Oh, and my main email's kaput, so I won't get any emails you send there.

The song Revan sings is called "Radical Dreamers: The Jewel That Cannot Be Stolen", the ending song (Japanese) on the soundtrack from the game Chrono Cross. Composed and arranged by Yasunori Mitsuda, words by Noriko Mitose. Acoustic guitar by Tomohiko Kira, vocals by Noriko Mitose.

With thanks to Hobnob-rev, schmoopy, Feza, Nyv, thesnowman, Prisoner24601, DeleriusJedi for helping me brainstorm. My apologies if I've missed anyone. And thanks to Prisoner24601 and Sera Terranova for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback.

arrow maker: Thanks. :) Good luck with classes.

Arrikazza: Now, now, it wouldn't be as good to read if Carth and Revan were so damned happy all the time, right?

ether-fanfic: Thanks. And yes, I'm trying not to make things between Dustil and Revan, and Dustil and Carth, be so easy. Ah, but messy is so much more fun than clean. :)

Feza's twin: They're Satanic kittens! :shifty look: Bah. I _said_ why he was kneeling...

Nyvanna: Thanks for the long review. :)

Prisoner 24601: You like fight scenes because you're a cruel, cruel woman. :) And, dammit, I made it clearer why Carth was kneeling. :p

Ceridan: Thanks. I live too far north to be afflicted by hurricanes, fortunately.

thesnowman: Thanks. The terrible duo will be shown next chapter.

Lunatic Pandora1: No, no, he's not. And run, you foo'! I'm gonna teach you all about the pain of chainsaws! :rips cord on chainsaw:

Firera: Thanks. And yeah, they're both highly pissed off.

gamorrean princess: Thanks for your kind words. :)

Rascarin: Thanks. :)

snackfiend101: I'll forgive you as long as you review every new chapter I submit from now on. :) And yes, you'll be seeing more of Lady Versenne. Soon. And thanks for the kind words; good to know I haven't mangled Dustil. I try to do him justice.

Mya Dawning: Thanks! And yes, Carth's in it deep... but so's Revan.

sammie teufel: Thanks. Oh, like in any relationship, they'll need time to see the other person's point of view. And you know I'm not one to kiss and tell...

Sera Terranova: Thanks. Couldn't have done it without you. :) Revan's not good at lots of things! Like thinking out situations instead of barging into them half-cocked... Dealing with Dustil. Dealing with her past... And saying she's not good at being half of a couple is putting it too strongly, I think...

D. Eldsoldier: Thanks for the kind words. And you'll get more chapters, damn you. :) I've got lots typed up, actually, it's just that I haven't reached that point in time in my fic to show them yet. :p And Revan only said she thinks the Masters are right to hurt Carth, you know?


	44. Longing

**Chapter 44: Longing**

Dustil woke as the shrill sound of the alarm jarred him out of vague dreams that were already beginning to slip from his grasp even as he tried to hold onto them. He squinted at the time display on the end table and blinked blearily, but it didn't change the numbers glinting accusingly at him. Damn, was it morning already?

He hadn't been able to get to sleep last night, after he had finished packing everything away into boxes, readying them for transport back to the _Ebon Hawk_. He'd left only a couple of changes of clothes, a few datapads and tools out. It was strange; he could've sworn he hadn't bought too many things from Sluis Van shops, and yet the amount of things he'd brought off from the ship had seemed to increase exponentially. He looked over at the neat pile of cargo containers in his bedroom with some bemusement, and shook his head.

He had tried to settle down with a datapad last night, but had stopped when he found himself perusing the same page for the last ten minutes. That last conversation he'd had with his father had bothered him a great deal, and it had disrupted his concentration. He had finally had to stop and really look at himself last night. _Really_ look at himself.

And hadn't liked what he saw when he realized this unthinking anger of his was a weakness. He'd thought that it would give him strength, but instead it had distracted him, made the focus he'd thought it gave him a complete lie. His complete inability to hurt Revan that time in the exercise room on Coruscant, even when she was unarmed, simply proved it.

Dustil idly watched the dust motes dancing in the beams of weak sunlight that fell across his lap as he thought. Revan could've easily killed him, using that anger and hatred of his against him. Distracted and mind fogged with rage, he would've been easy prey. Funny how Uthar and Yuthura had neglected to mention that little caveat.

The worst of it was that he'd found both Carth and Revan to be right. And he couldn't really even muster up any outrage at his father for making him promise that he would not try to kill Revan anymore. The Force knew _he_ would've been just as upset and pissed off if anyone had tried to hurt Selene.

His heart twinged with guilt at the thought of Selene. She was far from his thoughts these days; he hadn't thought about her in a long time. Ironic that she was the reason he'd gone to the Sith Academy, and she was also the reason he'd left it.

How long was he supposed to mourn her, anyway? Didn't the old fairy tales say a year and a day was the appropriate length of time for the mourning period? But it seemed like such an arbitrary number to him.

Dustil remembered being terrified when Uthar had told him the news, that Selene had been lost on an expedition in the Valley of the Dark Lords on Korriban. Terrified that he had lost the one last remnant of his life on Telos. Terrified that he was now alone, buried and forgotten in the dark, volcanic stone of the Sith Academy, save for a few friends he didn't really trust. _Dared_ not trust.

He remembered how easily the anger had come, anger at the tuk'ata he thought had killed her, anger at Uthar for sending her on such a dangerous mission without any backup. He'd even been angry at Selene, for not telling him of the mission and not taking him along to protect her.

He should've seen through Uthar's plans, realized the gleam in the Sith's eyes was satisfaction at Dustil's quick lapse into rage, into the Dark Side. What a fool he'd been. If anyone had thought to taunt him with Selene's death, he would've gone down as easily as a crippled bantha because the force of his emotions would've blinded him rather than helped him.

He sighed. He didn't know how his father had managed to live through four years alone when Dustil had enough trouble coping with Selene's death. He remembered the sudden gaping void that'd appeared in his life when Selene had gone. And his father had been with his mother for far longer than Dustil had been with Selene. Four years without anyone... Dustil had had Selene, at least, to help him survive and comfort him, even if it _had_ all been an act on her part. Her feelings had become genuine later. Carth had had no one.

Until now.

Dustil wearily rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm. What really bothered him more? The fact that Revan was the former Dark Lord, or the fact that his father loved a woman who was not his mother? _Damn_. The latter, he thought bitterly. The atrocities Darth Revan had committed were long ago and far away, and, with the exception of the destruction of Telos, did not impinge upon his awareness, being too distant and too unknown.

Revan was right, damn her. He would've done the same; he would've followed her, and later, Malak, willingly, if he'd stayed on the path shown to him on Korriban. Which he'd followed of his own free will, even if he _had_ been blinded and blinkered like a recalcitrant ronto to walk that path. He would've killed innocent people, helped destroy more worlds, just like Malak had done to Telos. Was it the height of hypocrisy for him to blame Revan, when he would've done the same?

He blew out a shuddering breath. Could he, in all conscience, begrudge his father his love for another woman? Especially when that woman clearly loved Carth as much as Carth loved her? _As much as Mother had loved Father_, the traitorous thought came. He shied away from the comparison.

Dustil groaned, threw back the covers and sat up, raking his fingers through his disheveled hair. When did life get this damned complicated? He narrowed his eyes at the light cheerfully invading his bedroom through the window and falling onto his tangled blankets.

Resigning himself to the inevitable, he dragged himself up out of bed and stumbled barefoot to the refresher. If he didn't show up for breakfast on time, his father might decide to take it into his head to knock the door down, thinking something might've happened to him. Dustil's mouth quirked. His father's concern for him got annoying at times, but Dustil had to admit it was also gratifying.

It took the shower hitting him with needles of hot water to wake him up enough to remember that his father had gone off on his infiltration mission, and that Revan was the only one he would be seeing at breakfast. He was, in fact, going to be alone with her for at least several days. He wasn't sure what to feel about that, yet. Life had been so much simpler when all he'd had to worry about was other students at the Sith Academy trying to cut him out of the competition, tuk'ata dung in his bed and shyrack guano in his soup.

One thing was for sure; Revan wouldn't need to break his door down, since she could just use the Force to open the lock. He scrubbed faster, feeling his face heat from something other than the hot water and steam at the thought that she might see him less-than-fully clothed.

Dustil was yawning mightily, but fully dressed, by the time Revan pressed the chime on the door, announcing her arrival. His nose twitched at the smell of caffa, and he gratefully fell upon the tray she was holding, much like a rancor on a six-week starvation diet might fall on a piece of prime nerf steak. He was ready to forgive her almost anything as he blew on the steaming surface and sipped carefully at the hot liquid. He mumbled a _Thank you_ to her absently as he tried to drink the caffa without scalding his tongue.

"Good morning, Dustil," Revan said, with a lopsided smile at his eagerness for the cup of caffa she'd brought. She put the tray down on the living room table and sipped from her own mug.

"Mornin'," Dustil mumbled, before drinking a larger gulp of caffa. He looked at her over the rim of his mug, noting the dark shadows under her eyes. Maybe she'd been up all night having sex with his father, he thought, a trifle sourly. The thought of _his_ father having _sex_ with _anyone_ still made his mind squirm and itch badly, when it didn't make his brain spin madly in the confines of his skull. Dammit, his father was too damned _old_ to be having sex, for the Force's sake!

Then he frowned, remembering the disappointed look that'd been on his father's face briefly last night, when he'd gone to see his father off. Carth had looked around the hallway when Dustil had glanced back at him before going into his suite, as if he were searching for something, and had looked sad when he didn't find it.

Revan looked distracted as she stood at the window, sipping her caffa, but Dustil didn't think she was actually looking at anything. He thoughtfully inhaled deeply of the rich aroma of freshly-brewed caffa rising from his cup, wondering what she was thinking about.

She glanced at him, as if she had discerned his thoughts. "Are you finished?" she asked politely, putting her empty mug on the tray.

The sooner weapons practice was over, the sooner he would get his breakfast. His stomach, unsatisfied by a mere mug of caffa, growled warningly in agreement. He set his empty cup down on the tray next to hers with a clink of ceramic impacting on metal.

"Okay. I'm ready, but I need to warm up first," Dustil said.

Revan nodded agreeably before taking the tray back to her own suite. "Alright. I'll just take these back for JC to clean, then I'll join you."

Dustil waved his acknowledgement. He stretched and started his warm-ups. He caught sight of the calibrator Carth had given him as he sat on the thin carpet to do curls, where he'd placed it on the table.

He shook his head as he stretched. What had his father been about, telling him to try and keep Revan out of trouble? He frowned suspiciously. Had Carth been serious? Dustil remembered the challenging gleam that'd been in his father's hazel eyes. He wondered irritably what his father thought his son could possibly do to prevent Revan from doing anything, when it was clear that not even his father could stop Revan from doing something she had her heart set on. His lips twitched against his will; he didn't know who was the more stubborn, his father, or Revan.

Carth had definitely not been happy when Dustil had gone to see him off. He had to admit that it'd been guilt that had made him wait up to say goodbye to his father. Was it guilt that would make him try to do what his father had asked? Still, it was... gratifying Carth had decided to trust Revan's safety to him, and that Carth thought he was capable of doing it.

Unfortunately, the pride in that chest-swelling thought was punctured a bit by the fact that Revan could take care of herself just fine, thank you very much, and that if there was anyone who would need rescuing, it was probably going to be _Dustil_.

Dustil sighed as he finished warming up, and was donning a padded surcoat when Revan rang at the door again. He had to admit she was pretty damned polite... for a former Dark Lord. He appreciated his privacy a lot more now, since he'd never had any at the Academy. The complete access anyone could have to his 'room' there had made getting into bed to sleep at night an adventure every time.

The door slid aside, revealing Revan with her practice blades in hand, dressed in Jedi robes; the robes protected her as much as his surcoat did for him. Her hair was bound tightly into a plain braid, and was wrapped sensibly around her neck so that it would be out of the way.

"Today we'll work on your offense, and see if you've improved your defense while attacking," Revan said briskly as she walked towards him. "Since Carth isn't here to play referee and point out any mistakes and weaknesses I may miss because I'll be sparring against you, I'll set up holocameras to capture our session. Afterwards, we can dissect our techniques by watching a play-by-play on the projector."

Dustil nodded. "Okay." He watched her activate the tiny devices and launch them out of her hands like birds. They hovered around them, spreading out.

Revan and Carth had both been sparring with him since they'd found his techniques and style favored aggressive attack too heavily, leaving him with a weak defense. It was typical Sith fighting practice, and they'd all worked hard to develop Dustil's defensive strategies to match his offensive abilities. Dustil had found out the hard way that he had a helluva lot more to learn when it came to melee fighting, when Revan had disarmed him in five moves, and Carth had 'killed' him in three. Few moments in his life had been as humiliating.

He'd found that youth and practice had been no match for experience and the hands-on fighting the brutality of war had taught both Carth and Revan. Even more humiliating had been the fact that his father hadn't even been breathing hard, while he, less than half Carth's age, had been sweating and winded. Whatever cockiness he'd had had dissipated at that realization of his weaknesses.

Dustil readied his practice blades, a long sword in his right hand that was identical in weight and balance to the vibrosword Revan had gifted him, and a short sword in the other. Both blades were blunted, of course, as were Revan's.

Revan waited calmly for him, her blades held in a defensive stance, her body relaxed and held in a crouch. Dustil approached her cautiously; he'd learned that her style heavily favored misdirection and feints, speed and finesse. Too often he'd been taken in by her tricks. Carth, on the other hand, was more direct, favoring powerful strikes over precision, smashing aside resistance rather than concentrating on finding holes in his opponent's defense. Dustil didn't make the mistake of underestimating Carth's speed again, though, not after that first time.

Revan defended against Dustil's strikes for a while, her swords deflecting and shedding his blows obliquely, not trying to pit her lesser physical strength against his greater. Then she began to attack; Dustil watched her eyes, but Revan gave nothing of her intentions away on her face. Their blades rang resoundingly against each other, and the vibrations from the blows reverberated up Dustil's hands to his arms and into his body from his swords. Sweat beaded and trickled into his face and down his temples, and from his hair down the back of his neck, to collect and itch under his collar.

Dustil shut out the minute hums and whistling passage of the holocameras flying around them as he sought to defend himself from Revan's strokes and try to get his own hits in. He tuned out his physical discomforts and concentrated on his attacks and defense.

Thrust, parry, dodge, bind, riposte...

The tempo of their blows began to speed up gradually. Dustil found himself increasingly on the defensive as Revan drove him back, and back, and back. He barely managed to stop himself from backing into the walls, sliding his body past her attacks and bounding out of reach of her blows.

Dustil leapt backwards and tried to circle around Revan to steal a few minutes to catch his breath, but Revan was relentless, following him closely and not allowing him to recover. Blows began to penetrate his defense and land on his surcoat, and he no longer tried to take the offense, being too busy trying to deflect her blades.

A lightning-quick flurry of blows on his blades drove him back, until he was up against a wall, trapping him with no room to maneuver or dodge. Revan's face was a blank mask of concentration, and sweat sheened her face and darkened her hair. His hands had been numb for some time now, as they kept absorbing the shock of the blows rattling on his blades and jarring his arms.

"Hold!" he yelled hoarsely. Revan blinked and immediately stepped back, her blades lowered. He panted and wiped sweat out of his face with the back of his hand as he leaned against the wall. Revan stepped back further, giving him room as she gulped air to try to still her own breathing. He noted with some satisfaction that she was just as out of breath as he was.

"I thought we were supposed to practice on my defense while I attacked, not while _you_ practiced to take my defenses completely apart!" he wheezed accusingly, after he had regained enough breath to speak. He hunched over with his hands on his knees, as he tried to breathe in enough air to fill his lungs.

Revan mopped her brow with her sleeve. "What?" she blurted in surprise, taken aback. She sucked in more air as she frowned at him. "I'm sorry, you're right. I'm afraid I was... distracted. Come, let's take a break. We'll both need to walk ourselves cool, to keep our muscles from stiffening."

Dustil shook his head as he complied, taking off his surcoat to let the cool air from the vents dry the sweat on his body. If those devastating attacks of hers had been so effective while she wasn't even paying attention, he'd hate to be at the other end of her blades when she was completely focused. His lips twisted; his humiliation couldn't be more complete, he thought sourly, as he draped the surcoat over a chair to dry.

He wiped his face with a towel as he walked a lap around the living room, shaking the tingling out of his hands as the sweat dried and cooled on his skin. He sat down on the couch when he had cooled down enough, watching Revan as she busied herself with the tiny hovering holocameras. She turned them off and took out the holo recordings from their slots, then slipped their memory chips into a case before sitting down on the other end of the couch from him. Dustil looked over at her; he wasn't sure why, but underneath her calm, relaxed pose, he thought she looked vastly unhappy and tense as she cradled her practice blades in her lap.

Silence stretched. Revan did not break it, staring instead through half-lidded eyes into the middle distance with an abstracted expression on her face. Dustil shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Dustil asked suddenly, startling himself with the way the sound of his voice broke the silence. There was no need to specify just whom he'd meant by 'he'.

Revan's head swiveled towards his, her eyes refocusing on his face. "I... well, yes," she said after a moment, a trifle sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I can't seem to concentrate on anything without my thoughts eventually trying to fly towards your father," she added apologetically.

"What do you mean?" Dustil asked curiously.

Revan rubbed the side of her nose with a finger. "We have never been apart for more than a few hours, you see. I'm finding that the lack of his presence in my head is like a hole in my awareness, and I keep trying to find him to fill it again." She sighed.

"So, uh... was Father really pissed last night?" Dustil asked, when it looked like nothing more was forthcoming from her, and the silence threatened to come back. He winced mentally; the answer to his question had been painfully obvious yesterday.

He grimaced at the memory of last night's dinner. What a farce and a fiasco it'd been. He was surprised the water in their glasses hadn't frozen into ice in Revan's presence; he had practically gotten frostbite from the arctic chill emanating from her. And his father hadn't been much better; Dustil had kept expecting the delicate ceramic plate holding his father's meal to splinter under the force of his wielding of his utensils, and holes burned into the table from Carth's glowering. He winced, remembering also how Carth had used his knife like a Gamorrean war axe to butcher his innocent nerf steak into precise, bite-sized chunks.

Dustil had eaten so fast he'd almost choked in his hurry to retreat back to his room, back into a space where he didn't have to feel there were unsaid words being hurled like projectiles, and speaking looks that were capable of turning Hoth into a smoking ruin.

It was obvious Carth must've talked to Revan after Dustil had told his father about what had nearly happened on the rooftop on Coruscant. And it was equally obvious they'd fought about it; Dustil could tell that from the tension that'd been in the air last night, and he would've felt it even if he were blind and deaf. And he was neither.

Revan gave him an extremely dry look. "Saying your father was really pissed yesterday is a statement somewhere on the order of saying Hoth is a little chilly." She scrubbed her face vigorously with one hand. "Yes. Yes, he was. And I'm not sure I can blame him, really..." This last was said quietly, as if she were speaking to herself. She turned towards him again, her eyes sharpening. "Just why had you told him about our talk on Coruscant, anyway?"

Dustil bit his lip as he tried to analyze the inflection of her voice. She hadn't sounded accusing or angry, just... curious. Although sometimes it was really hard to tell with her. He tried to figure out the best way to phrase _I blurted it out when my father pissed me off_, in such a way that he wouldn't sound like a complete idiot.

"Uh, well..." he said, vacillating. Revan raised an eyebrow and waited patiently. "Father had wanted me to promise not to... um..." He halted, unnerved a bit by the patient look Revan was giving him. "Uh, to not make trouble while he was gone," he finally mumbled.

Revan's eyebrow stayed up. "I see." After a few moments, in which Dustil fought to keep himself from squirming, she asked, "And will you?"

"_Yes_. I promised," Dustil said testily. He scowled at her, waiting for... what? For her to gloat? Laugh? She was too canny, probably, to do that.

She merely nodded solemnly. "Alright." She draped her arm on the back of the couch and propped her chin in her hand, in an attitude of attention. Just when he thought he'd gotten off the hook, she asked, "So what did promising you wouldn't make trouble while your father was away have to do with what we talked about on Coruscant?"

Dustil wasn't surprised, exactly, that she'd chosen to pursue the matter further, but he'd hoped. _Damn_. He ran both hands through his sweat-damp hair, trying to stall for time. "He kept hounding me about it, so... I, uh, I told him I hadn't taken that chance on Coruscant, so why would I do it again now?"

Revan watched him, her casual pose and attentive face never wavering. "I see," she said simply.

Dustil shifted again on the couch, fiddling with the hilts of his practice blades. "Uh... I, uh, I thought you'd told him." He was wrong, of course. Carth would not have looked so shocked and stricken yesterday if Revan had told him.

"No. No, I... I hadn't," Revan said. Her eyes unfocused again, even as he watched.

Dustil was suddenly irritated by her wavering attention, even if it did get him out of the hotseat. "Hey!" he said sharply, and had the satisfaction of seeing Revan twitch. He waved a hand at her exasperatedly. "Uh, hello, I'm here, not light-years away, you know," he said sarcastically. "He'll be back in a few days, for the Force's sake." He shook his head at her in disgust. "You're acting an awful lot like a lovestruck girl mooning after her boyfriend, for someone who's supposed to be a Jedi."

Revan's lips twitched into a tilted grin, with a hint of a smirk to it. "But I _am_ a lovestruck girl mooning after my boyfriend. How astute of you," she added in a dust-dry tone. She raised an eyebrow. "Besides, that's pretty rich, coming from you... Don't you have that teeny-weeny bit of a crush on a certain girl with platinum hair and who's an heiress to a fortune?"

Dustil squirmed, feeling his face redden; he couldn't, of course, deny it. Damn her Jedi perception. He glowered at her, ignoring her remark with dignity. "Well, it's getting really irritating. I try to actually _talk_ to you, and you're off in la-la land!"

Revan shrugged. "I can't seem to help it." She looked at him with a sardonic expression on her face. "I would've thought you'd understand. When one is in love, one cannot help but wonder and worry when their love is away. One cannot help but be upset and unhappy if their love is angry or sad, just as one cannot help but be overjoyed when their loved one has come back. I'm afraid I can't help but worry about your father, especially when what he's doing is dangerous."

Dustil slumped against the couch, taken aback slightly by Revan's bluntness. He jumped when she clapped her hands together loudly.

"I need something to do. Something to distract me," she said, bounding up off the couch. "Come on, let's go to the shipyard again and check on the _Ebon Hawk_. If it's ready to go, we can move back in and pack our stuff back onboard."

Dustil scratched his head, trying to find the catch. Surely going back up to the shipyard wouldn't be considered dangerous, he thought, mindful of his father's request to him to try to keep Revan out of trouble. And maybe he could see Lady Versenne again. He perked up at that. "Well... okay."

Revan gave him a knowing look that made his face flush as she headed back to the other suite. "Hit the 'fresher, Dustil. Come on by when you're ready." She disappeared into her suite before he could say anything.

Dustil rose from the couch and rubbed the back of his head. It seemed harmless enough... at least she hadn't wanted to go swoop racing, remembering what his father had said about her racing style. So why did he have a bad feeling about this? He shook his head and walked to the refresher.

Revan was waiting for him when he rang at the door, already changed out of her Jedi robes and into a typical spacer outfit. The butt of her slugthrower was a subtle bulge under her left shoulder, hidden under her utility vest. Her twin vibroblades were strapped at her hips.

Dustil scratched the side of his nose as he buttoned the holsters down over his blasters. "Wouldn't it be more practical for you to carry a blaster?" he asked curiously, jerking his chin at her slugthrower.

"Nah. I carry it for show, really; I never intend to actually _use_ it," Revan replied, shaking her head.

Dustil raised his eyebrows. "Why not?"

Revan actually looked embarrassed; it was an expression he'd never seen on her face before. "I, ah, I'm afraid I can't hit the broad side of a bantha standing five paces away," she muttered.

Dustil couldn't help it; he laughed. He managed to choke his mirth down into more quiet snickers when she glared at him.

"Laugh it up, Dustil... I'll thump you next practice, just you wait," she threatened in a growl. The threat was undermined by the smile in her voice and the twitching of her lips.

Not even the threat of more bruises could stop Dustil from sniggering. "Can't you, I dunno, use the Force to help you aim?" he asked, when he had more or less regained his gravity. More snickers lurked in his chest, escaping at odd moments.

Revan shrugged helplessly. "Using the Force is no match for muscle memory and experience, I think, which is what both you and your father have. By the time I can manage to squeeze off a shot, you or your father would probably have gotten off at least five with the same accuracy. So it's impractical, unless I were trying to snipe at long range. Anyway, carrying this around," she said, touching the butt of the gun, "just makes people think I'm armed only with it and my blades, and so no one would look for anything further than that."

"Like your lightsabers," Dustil guessed.

She nodded. "Yes, like my lightsabers." She beckoned to him as she walked to the door. "Come, let's go catch a shuttle. We can buy breakfast once we're there."

They drove to one of House Vosaryk's shuttle platforms in their speeder, located not too far away from their hotel. Revan was content to let Dustil drive; he was grateful he didn't have to suffer from Revan's wild driving technique, but he thought she was also taking the opportunity to daydream. Or maybe not daydream... She looked like she was trying to remember, or find something. Dustil had been feeling the Force dancing subtly around her, every time she looked distracted, but he couldn't tell what she was using it for.

"What're you doing with the Force?" Dustil asked inquisitively, when they had parked the speeder at a nearby garage, and were now waiting at the shuttle platform. Revan inserted the Vosaryk Shipyards token into a panel inset into a pillar near the launchpad. The pillar, surmounted by a large, three-dimensional representation of House Vosaryk's sigil, beeped, accepting the token and scheduling two berths for them on the next shuttle.

"What?" she asked, startled by his question. They stood a little away from a small knot of other sentients, who were also waiting to be taken up. She put a finger to her lips and motioned for him to walk with her, by which he gathered she didn't want him talking about it so openly.

Dustil breathed in the scents of the habitat and the platform; the faint, acrid scent of shuttle fuel mingled with the stronger metallic smells of machinery, mixing incongruously with the odors of cooking food coming from the nearby stands. The food smells grew stronger the closer they walked to the food stands that took advantage of the custom the waiting crowds provided. All of the stands had House Vosaryk logos, he noted idly; the Houses were nothing if not practical, all of them willing to earn all the credits they could get from enterprises both large and small, grand and commonplace.

His nose twitched at the scent of baking bread and brewing caffa. Revan grinned and he looked sheepish when his stomach growled threateningly. "Come on, let's go feed that bottomless pit of yours," Revan teased. "I forgot how much young men ate, although you probably couldn't possibly match Zaalbar's appetite."

Revan and Dustil perched on some chairs in the sunlight filtered through the habitat's dome, and ate a late breakfast bought from one of the stands. It wasn't bad, Dustil thought, as he munched on hot, fresh bread, but it wasn't really up to the JC-01 standards he was getting used to. She opened a hand at him, gesturing for him to continue their earlier conversation.

Dustil chased a bite of bread with hot caffa, and carried on with the question he'd asked earlier. "I can feel you using the Force when you're staring into space," he said in a low voice. The sounds of the platform machinery and the conversations of the food stand patrons, along with the buzz of voices from the waiting crowd should serve to mask his questions.

Revan sipped on her cup of fragrant tea slowly, clearly thinking on his question and her answer. "You know that I can sense Carth whenever he's nearby, yes?" Dustil nodded. "I find myself trying to find him now that he's further away, and the Force you're feeling me use are the tendrils of my attention, the feelers that I'm putting out to try to sense him. I suppose if I meditated, I might actually succeed in making contact, but I can't be spending my whole day doing that. But I try, anyway." She shrugged apologetically. "Hence my need to find something, anything to do."

Dustil threw his plate and cup into a nearby disposer. Revan chased the last sip of tea around in her cup before doing the same. "I can understand that, I guess," he said. He kept finding his thoughts veering more and more towards Lady Versenne, after all.

Revan smiled. "I'm glad you're not offended by my inattention." She lounged in her chair, watching a small knot of sentients in House Vosaryk uniforms approach. Dustil leaned his elbows on the table and looked around the platform as he waited in silence with her. He frowned when it looked like the sentients in Vosaryk livery were approaching _them_, not the food stand as he'd thought. He was aware of Revan's sudden attention and tension, even though she hadn't moved out of her casual pose. Their boots seemed to ring discordantly loud to Dustil's ears.

A large raven-haired human in front of the group, dressed in the blue-and-silver uniform of the Sluis Van police force, stopped in front of their table. The three sentients in Vosaryk livery stopped a pace behind him. Dustil scrutinized the human's insignia; the man bore sergeant's tabs and insignia on his sleeve and collar.

"Captain Nami Kera'al?" the police sergeant asked politely, speaking directly to Revan. He and the rest of his entourage loomed sinisterly over both Revan and Dustil. Dustil felt the atmosphere chill slightly, as if a cold wind blew over him when their shadows covered him. But no wind or weather effects of any kind existed in the habitat domes.

Revan rose leisurely to her feet, moving slowly and carefully. Dustil rose also, feeling the curious stares of the other patrons and the shuttle crowd focus on them.

The police sergeant shifted from one foot to another, as if he were also uncomfortable beneath the stares. "I have here a warrant for your arrest, Captain." He glanced at Dustil, his eyes darting from his datapad to Dustil's face. "And also for a man named Stiller." He offered the datapad to Revan, who took it.

"What are the charges, Sergeant? It must concern House Vosaryk, or these... gentlemen would not be accompanying you, yes?" Revan asked calmly, thumbing through the pad and perusing it idly, as if she had not a care in the world. Dustil could only envy her attitude of nonchalance, and imitate it as best he could.

"You and your companions are charged with murder, Captain."

* * *

With thanks to Hobnob-rev, schmoopy, Feza, Nyv, thesnowman, Prisoner24601, DeleriusJedi for helping me brainstorm. My apologies if I've missed anyone. And thanks to Prisoner24601 for giving me valuable feedback.

Sorry for being late again, guys. I didn't get over my block until Thursday. I promise Chapter 45 will be on time.

arrow maker: Yeah, poor Carth and Revan...

thesnowman: Yes, they're both equally stubborn, and equally in a righteous fury. :)

Nyvanna: Thanks for the kind words. And the make-up scene reminds you of your visit to the dentist? Ouch. :)

Prisoner 24601: Thanks, glad you enjoyed Carth's internal angst. And yeah, Carth wouldn't be in character if he wasn't stubborn about something, whether or not he's right.

Lunatic Pandora1: Okay, a chainsaw's too good for you. :p Here's my Dull Spoon of Evisceration...

Sera Terranova: Thanks. Confusion in a relationship would be realistic, no? And Carth challenging Dustil like that might actually work on the competitive outlook Dustil has, inherited from his days with the Sith.

snackfiend101: Ah, well, I'm a day late and a dollar short yet again. And no one's stopping you from rereading and submitting a review per chapter... (In fact, I urge you to do so! :D) Thanks for the kind words; I try to do Carth justice.

ether-fanfic: Thanks for the kind words. As for Revan and Dustil... well, they're Trouble with a capital 'T'. :D

Feza's twin: I'm not one to kiss and tell, so stay tuned. :D As for Dustil trying to heed Carth's request... You tell me if I did it realistically. :)

VMorticia: Thanks for the compliments. If I made someone smile when they read my fic, I'll have done my job. :)

wrathra: Thanks. Stay tuned to see how things are resolved. Or not.


	45. Subterfuge

**Chapter 45: Subterfuge**

Carth sat in a corner of the cantina, staring glumly into his drink, the finest rotgut--if that wasn't a complete oxymoron--the bar could provide. Which was to say he might as well be drinking aged vinegar. He took another sip of it; it burned nastily down his throat like ship fuel. He placed the glass down precisely onto a dry stain ring on the table with a clink that he couldn't hear over the harsh, driving music of the live band.

He grimaced as he shifted his arm; it had stuck a little to the sticky, dirty table, the surface of which was stained with drying puddles of spilled drinks and littered with cigarra butts. The place stank of sour, rancid alcohol and cigarra smoke. He didn't even want to _think_ about the state of the refreshers in a place like this. As seedy dives went, this cantina, located in the worst part of the Transients Dome, was the seediest he'd ever been in. Worse than the ones they'd had to meet OFI contacts in on Nar Shaddaa, and that was saying something.

He shifted in his seat, trying to find a position that wouldn't numb his rear end, his boots scraping on the gritty floor. He could tell the floor hadn't been cleaned in ages, because when the band took breaks in between sets from making their music--or noise, rather--he could hear his boots crunching loudly on the floor. Only the Force knew what sort of debris was down there, or how old it was. He grimaced again, as he tried to decide if it was better when his boots crunched, or when his boots squelched on something soft and sticky.

Carth lifted his glass again to his lips, but not drinking from it, even though he had taken a pill earlier to keep the alcohol from having its usual effect on his body. He used it to hide his face, so that he could watch the other sentients in the bar inconspicuously through the foggy blue haze of cigarra smoke. He'd picked a spot in the back of the cantina, his back to the wall, so that he'd have the best place to observe without being observed in turn. It was unlikely anyone noticed or would care even if they had, since the lights over his section of the room were dim and flickered every so often.

The most Bospho had gotten from his network of spies regarding Sayir's recruiters was a list of contact names, and where they were likely to hire mercenaries. He'd gone to several of the cantinas on the list already tonight, ones frequented by bounty hunters and fighter types, without finding a single one.

Carth sighed. It didn't look like it was going to be his lucky day. Again. He sighed again, and scowled into the mysterious, murky depths of his drink. Today was shaping up to be, if not as disastrous as yesterday, what with his talk with Dustil and fight with Revan, just as frustrating.

A server passed by his table and paused to see if he wanted another drink. Or maybe... something else. Almost all of the servers here were females of one race or another, though he'd seen a few males, too. They weren't here just to serve drinks and food, since he'd seen several of them being propositioned--crudely--by interested patrons. And their offers had been taken up.

"Hey, handsome, get you another drink?" the girl asked. "Or... something else?" She smiled invitingly and winked.

Carth suppressed a snort at the 'handsome' remark. He'd be called handsome if the girl had had several shots of the same rotgut he'd been having, and had bad eyesight, to boot. This latest disguise Revan had furnished for him was pretty damned ugly.

His cheeks were now higher, sharper, and his brows lower, making his now hazel eyes look sunken. His nose had been flattened and thickened into a flattened fruit in the middle of his face, so that it looked like it had been broken many times, and had never been set properly; this also gave his voice a bit of a nasal twang.

He still had facial disfigurements, but not as ostentatious and distinctive as the ones he'd had before; they were just a few thin blade scars. The largest of these curved down from the right side of his forehead and continued down to cut across his nose to his left cheek.

The most striking part of his face was a vividly-colored tattoo of a bird of prey on his right cheek. The bird's feathery, crested head hooked over his right eyebrow, its long neck curving outwards sinuously around to his right temple. Its outspread wings extended and expanded on his cheek, down to his jawline, and the tail extended down his neck to his arm, the very end of it reaching nearly to his elbow, though that part was covered by his armor from his throat on down. It stood out starkly on his now very white skin; the crimson and sky blue colors could be seen clearly across a dark room, which didn't make him feel any better.

Carth eyed the girl; even before he'd met Revan he wouldn't have taken her up on her offer. He was frustrated, but he wasn't ever going to be _that_ frustrated. She looked older than her years, worn and tired-looking. Still, there was no point in being rude; she was a working girl, and a veteran of a sort, just as much as any soldier.

"No, thanks. But I'll take another of these," Carth replied, lifting up his glass and waggling it a little. A look of disappointment mixed with relief flashed quickly across the girl's face in the dim light, but she nodded and headed on towards other tables, nearly disappearing into the smoky haze. He probably looked too poor for her to want to seduce.

Carth couldn't really blame her for having that impression. His rather patchy, much-repaired armor seemed to sit badly on his body, but it only _looked_ ill-fitting and terribly battered. In actuality, the patches of irregular textures and materials could easily be pulled off, given the correct solvent, along with the exposed durasteel mesh. Underneath all the seemingly-poor repairs was his heavy exoskeleton, which was probably much better than all of the armor the fighters wore in the cantina, combined.

Carth shifted in his seat again, the hilt of the sword on his back scraping against the wall. He'd debated with himself as to whether it would be wise to be so... overdressed, since drunken fighters here were likely to take it as a challenge and make trouble for him. Hopefully, he could spot anyone intending to do so and drop them unobtrusively with the blasters he had hidden in wrist holsters, already set to stun.

What he found himself hoping for was a decent fight, and he wasn't about to be so elegant as to use blasters. Anger still simmered in his gut at Revan; it would be nice to have clear and defined targets to take out his frustrations on. He shook his head mentally at himself, scowling down at the watery reflection of his face in his drink. Maybe he was no better than Canderous, after all.

Carth rubbed absently at the scar on his left cheek. Revan had not even given him a goodbye kiss, much less anything more. For which he couldn't even really blame her. That last ill-considered comment of his... He more than deserved it, really. Granted, even if he _hadn't_ stuck his damned foot in his damned mouth, their big blow-up was possibly too fresh in their minds.

At least, it was still fresh in his. He glared down at the reflection of his face in his drink, and tried not to think about it. As always, the harder he tried not to think about something, the more he thought about it, to his disgust. He took a hefty swig of his drink, emptying it, wincing as it burned its way down his throat without mercy. He looked at the dirty residue at the bottom of the glass, but not really seeing it, as he thought about his last sight of the two people he loved most.

He wondered how Revan and Dustil were getting on. Since he'd been monitoring the news every fifteen minutes out of sheer boredom on his datapad, he hadn't heard anything about a double murder, explosions coming from the hotel district, manhunts for one or two fugitives or anything else of that nature. There was just the usual stock and profit-driven news and gossip among the Houses of Sluis Van. So... that must mean they were all right, surely? Communications silence was fine and dandy for covert operations, Carth thought darkly, but damned hard to get around when one wanted to know what was going on with one's accomplices.

Carth's attention was immediately caught by movement approaching him. His eyes snapped up and his free hand twitched towards his sword, but it was only the server who had propositioned him earlier. He relaxed slightly.

The girl put his drink on the table in front of him, and swept up the empty glasses deftly, putting them on her tray. He put down a fifty-credit chit on her tray; her eyes lit up at the extremely generous tip, making her look younger and prettier.

She bobbed happily at him. "Thank you, sir!"

Carth held up another fifty-credit chit. The girl's eyes gleamed with greed and wariness. "I'll give you this," he said, waving the chit clamped between his index and middle fingers, "if you tell me if there's any work to be had in this town for the likes of me." He feigned a sheepish look. "I'm new here, and I was hoping I'd find a decent job by now." He decided not to smile; he didn't think it would have its usual effect on women. Most likely it would just send her running off screaming, or, since she looked like an experienced server here, cringing away from him.

She bit her lip, looking avidly at the chit in his fingers as she tried to find the catch, then licked her lips. "Sometimes... sometimes there's a Twi'lek, a green one, who comes around every so often, and hires fighters here. I haven't seen him lately, but he might be in today. I mean, it's about the right time for him to come around."

"What does he want to hire fighters for?" Carth asked, eyebrow raised.

She stared longingly at the credit chit like a spice addict might look at a bag of chemical bliss; Carth felt a twinge of pity for her.

"I don't know, but... but the mercs he hires, they don't come back anymore," she said in a low whisper, fear flickering in her eyes.

Carth handed the chit to her; she snatched it up as if afraid he might take it back. "Thanks," he said. "That'll be all." She bobbed again, clutching the laden tray to her chest, and scurried off.

Carth sat back in his uncomfortable chair and inhaled the sour fumes from his fresh drink as he held it up to his face. A green Twi'lek was on his list of contacts; it might be worth his while to stay in this dump a little bit longer. He made a face as he sipped the rotgut; he certainly wasn't staying for the high quality of the establishment's alcohol.

A gruff voice raised in anger attracted his attention. Carth looked up to see a Rodian snout to snout with an Aqualish in scuffed black armor. Another one of the servers, an orange Twi'lek girl, was between them. The Rodian held one of her arms while the Aqualish held the other. The short Twi'lek looked frightened out of her wits and frozen with terror. The rest of the patrons at the other tables were cheering and egging them on, or taking and making bets.

Carth scowled, his hand tightening on his drink, his other hand reaching for his sword. His lip curled. There were plenty of other willing women here; why did they have to fight over one? He tried to ignore the part of him that reared its head, scenting a fight.

"I saw her first!" the Rodian snarled in Huttese, and yanked on the Twi'lek's arm for emphasis.

The Aqualish bared long yellow teeth. "So what if you saw her first? I grabbed her first, so now she's mine!" he growled. He proceeded to yank the Twi'lek's other arm, held imprisoned in one large hand.

Carth glanced at the bar. The bartender had already called two hulking bouncers over to help extricate the Twi'lek from the randy fighters, though Carth was sure it was because they didn't want the merchandise roughed up, not because they actually cared for the Twi'lek's safety. The problem was, Carth couldn't see how they could get her out without hurting her.

Carth's hands clenched; if he tried to help, he might blow his cover. If he didn't... The Twi'lek looked ready to cry, her eyes were so huge, and she was trying not to shake. Her lekku were flattened to the back of her head in her terror, and wrapped tightly around her neck. Carth shifted in his seat, his hand already grasping the hilt of his short vibroblade; it was too close and confining in the cantina to use his longer vibrosword effectively. The best weapons in a bar brawl were one's fists, feet, teeth and short weapons like knives or clubs.

His decision was made quickly. _Screw it. I won't be able to look myself in the face if I don't help._

The moment Carth was waiting for arrived; the Aqualish shoved the Rodian, who staggered into the back of a Trandoshan sitting at another table. The Trandoshan took umbrage at the familiarity, and rose to shove the Rodian back. The poor Twi'lek cried out as her arms were wrenched, her piercing scream cutting through the noise of the cantina.

It was around the right time for the bar patrons to be drunk enough to be belligerent, but not enough to pass out. Carth watched, thinking he was quite possibly the most sober patron in the cantina right now, as he impatiently bided his time until he could duck into the developing melee; no one else would care if they hit the Twi'lek, so he had to get her out as soon as he could.

The Rodian had shoved back at the Aqualish as the Trandoshan shoved him back; either by design or accident the Rodian managed to land a punch on the Aqualish's jaw. The Aqualish roared in surprised pain, letting go of the Twi'lek.

Carth hunched over his table, his muscles growing tense as he leaned forward, watching for an opportunity, feeling as eager for the fight as a kath hound scenting blood. His hand gripped his sword hilt in anticipation, feeling the skin of his knuckles grow taut as he watched and calculated.

The Aqualish knocked over the table where three Gamorreans had been sitting, who'd been watching and squealing in appreciation of the entertainment, growing louder the more they drank. They weren't content to watch anymore, though, and waded happily into the melee, ham hands and fists walloping heads and bodies indiscriminately, grunting with glee. One of the Gamorreans squealed in pain when a Zabrak smashed him over the head with a chair; the Gamorrean staggered back and fell over onto Carth's table, breaking it.

Carth calmly leaned over and poured his drink into the Gamorrean's face. The Gamorrean screamed shrilly as the liquid burned into his eyes, down into his nostils, and clawed at his face with both hands. Carth sent him into oblivion with a precise smack to his temple with his boot, making sure to apply extra force so that it got through the Gamorrean's thick skull. The blow rang with a satisfying thunk, vibrating up Carth's leg from his toes. Carth could actually hear it now, since the live so-called band had broken up to get away from the developing brawl. Hell, if he'd thought the band would run off from a fight, he would've started a brawl himself much sooner.

Getting up from his chair and moving into the melee, Carth dodged blows and bodies as he moved towards the two fighters. The Rodian still had the Twi'lek in one hand, and was now fighting the Aqualish, who had recovered and had renewed his own hold on the Twi'lek. They had blades out now, and were totally uncaring of whether they'd cut the Twi'lek they were fighting over.

Carth slid along the wall, so that he wouldn't be surrounded and need to guard both sides. He found himself missing Revan and Dustil deeply; he wouldn't have to be so careful if they'd been there, watching his back while he watched theirs. He ducked a Zabrak's punch by leaning back; he grabbed the Zabrak's wrist with his right hand, his belt in the other, and used the Zabrak's momentum to hurl him bodily into a knot of bodies, knocking them all down and clearing a bit of space in the bargain.

A Rodian's knife whistled towards him from the side, and Carth had to bend slightly to allow it to pass his stomach; his armor could've turned it aside, but he wasn't about to take sloppy chances. Carth slid the shortsword-length vibroblade from his belt and parried the Rodian's next clumsy stroke; Carth could smell the alcoholic fumes on the Rodian's fetid breath as he closed the distance.

Using the oversized guard on his blade to capture the Rodian's knife in a bind, Carth hooked his other hand under the Rodian's armpit, took a firm grip on one of the Rodian's armor straps on his shoulder and heaved, flipping the Rodian over. The Rodian yelled, losing his knife as he was slammed down onto the floor belly first, the air whooshing out of his lungs explosively. A kick to the Rodian's temple from Carth's boot ensured that he would stay down.

Carth quickly scanned the cantina; the whole damned place was now fighting, as far as he could see. The two bouncers had their hands full, cracking heads; more bouncers in the cantina's colors were moving in, but they couldn't get to the Twi'lek girl through the press of bodies, if they even saw her or cared anymore. Carth slid his vibroblade back into its sheath, since he didn't actually intend or want to kill anyone, though he was really having second thoughts about his restraint regarding the two fighting over the girl.

He sensed rather than saw the blow coming down behind his head; he ducked, the blackjack whipping past where his head had been a split second ago. Carth spun, using his momentum to punch the human behind him in the solar plexus. Carth grabbed the man's blackjack hand when the man bent over, and slammed it hard into the wall, one, two, three times before the man took the hint and dropped his little surprise. Then Carth ruthlessly twisted the man's arm up behind his back, spun the screaming man around and propelled him into the moving mass of bodies with a shove of his boot to the man's rear end.

Carth finally reached the Rodian and the Aqualish, and maneuvered himself behind the two; they were so busy fighting each other, they didn't even notice him. Except for the Twi'lek, who had gone beyond fear, and could not even scream, her white-rimmed eyes staring blankly at Carth. She didn't acknowledge the reassuring smile he tried to give her; it probably didn't look too reassuring on his ugly, disguised face right now, anyway.

Waiting with the patience of an experienced soldier for an opportunity, Carth watched the two drunken fighters squabble. It was going to be both an easy and hard task to help the Twi'lek girl; both sentients--using the term loosely--had a hand hindered, holding the Twi'lek in a tug-of-war, but it would be hard to extract her from their grips without getting her hurt while those naked blades kept flashing so closely. And clumsily; the two of them had their paltry wits drowning in alcohol, to judge by their bumbling strokes. It meant they'd be less predictable, but also slower.

A motion in the corner of his eye had Carth raising his left arm instinctively to block a descending chair leg, the blow numbing his arm for a few seconds despite the gauntlet protecting him from the worst of the impact. Carth retreated a step, balanced on the balls of his feet in a crouch, vibroblade suddenly in his right hand. Exhilaration thrummed through his veins; Carth bared his teeth at the Gran in a broad, feral grin.

The dim lighting seemed brighter than before, the light skittering along the sharp edge of his vibroblade in incandescent sparks; the smell of blood, sweat, stale drinks and cigarra smoke filled his nostrils as his boots crunched on the gritty floor, broken bottles and glasses grating and tinkling against each other under his soles. The buzz of conversation in the cantina had turned into a sea of noise, full of pained screams and grunts of both agony and exertion, the deafening roaring of sentients fighting in a small, enclosed space. A part of him was astonished and a bit horrified at how much pleasure he was taking in this, and wondered if this was what Canderous felt in battle _all the time_. No wonder the Mandalorian reveled in war.

_I'm not a warrior, I'm a soldier. There's a difference. Warriors attack and conquer, they prey on the weak. Soldiers defend and protect the innocent--mostly from warriors._

His own remembered words served to calm him. He was not Canderous. He didn't start this fight, and he was only in it because the Twi'lek was trapped right in the middle of it. No one cared about her, or if she got hurt. If she was injured, and it disfigured her, she would be turned out into the streets. And if she died, there were more where she came from. Carth was honest enough to admit he was using this fight for his own purposes, to take out his frustrations on someone. Still, he bet Canderous wouldn't have given a damn for any Twi'lek, and would just have waded in the moment the Rodian had landed that punch, if not earlier.

The Gran had been probing Carth's defense while he'd been thinking, moving carefully with respect for Carth's longer reach and more lethal weapon. A knife fighter, Carth though, judging from the way the Gran was holding and handling his makeshift club. Now the Gran attacked in earnest, the club feinting in a blow to Carth's left side, then smoothly whipping up to strike at Carth's head. This one, Carth thought, wasn't as drunk as the others. Carth ducked, just enough for the club to pass through the air above his head, close enough to brush his hair. The Gran swung again.

_Wait a minute_, Carth thought suddenly, catching the chair leg on his blade and sheering off a chunk of it. _If he's a knife fighter, then where's his knife--?_

The knife winked malevolently in the dim light as it swiftly curved out in the Gran's other hand and lashed out at Carth's left side while Carth had been engaging the Gran's club, leaving his side open. Carth leapt back and nearly went down flat on his back when his heel came down on a round bottle. Only his greater weight saved him from spilling onto the floor, as his foot crunched and crushed the glass underfoot instead of rolling out from under. The Gran's knife skittered off the surface of the armor covering Carth's belly, gouging a long, deep scratch across several of the patches.

_That was too close. Dammit, Onasi, get your damned head out of your damned ass!_

Carth recovered, moving more warily now that his opponent had shown his cunning and had become more of a threat with those two weapons. He couldn't draw his other sword, even if it _would_ give him a much greater reach, because its very length was a distinct disadvantage in these narrow confines.

Narrowing his eyes in furious thought, Carth calculated, and decided that the Gran's knife was the greater danger; unless that chair leg impacted his skull, it wouldn't do as much damage as the knife. A knife could penetrate the joins in his armor, but the makeshift club would, at most, cause bruises and maybe crack or break a bone. He still had to be careful about it.

Carth and the Gran circled each other warily in the limited space, weapons licking out in careful probes and feints, testing each other's defenses and readiness. The Gran attacked first, bringing down the chair leg while at the same time slashing up with his knife. Carth brought his arm up to intercept the club; the blow jarred and numbed his arm again when the leg slammed down against his gauntlet with a dull thud. Carth was just able to catch the Gran's knife on his blade, and managed to catch and hold it still just long enough by trapping the knife's guard across his. Then Carth stepped in and brought up his knee, and his armor-plated shin whipped up, with all of his momentum and weight behind it, to hit the Gran in the crotch. A strangled whimper escaped from the Gran's lips as he dropped his weapons to hunch over and clutch himself.

Carth grabbed the Gran by the collar, ignoring the vomit beginning to drip from the Gran's mouth, and shoved him at the two squabbling fighters. The Gran bowled into the Aqualish's back, knocking the surprised fighter into his Rodian rival; it took them both by surprise and had them off balance, their holds slackening on the Twi'lek's arms. Carth had followed immediately after making his throw; he broke the Rodian's and Aqualish's slackened holds with the flat of his vibroblade, probably breaking their fingers with the force of his blows, though he wasn't about to care if he had.

The Twi'lek was standing rigidly even after Carth had freed her; with a silent apology, Carth grasped her by the waist and threw her over the bar counter, and hoped the Twi'lek didn't get hurt too badly when she landed. He couldn't spare anymore attention for her, anyway, since the Rodian and the Aqualish were coming after him for making them lose their prize. Both of them had apparently set aside their differences to take down the meddling stranger.

They moved to flank him, the Rodian on his left and the Aqualish on his right, but it wasn't exactly a coordinated maneuver, since both were drunk and had never, it looked to Carth, worked together before. Carth backed away until he felt the wall press on his back; he would have less maneuvering room, but at least no one could sneak up on him.

The Rodian lunged, long knife flashing towards Carth's chest. Carth sidestepped and stretched out his right foot, tripping the Rodian. The Aqualish roared and made his own move, vibroblade sweeping a thrust at Carth's exposed side when he thought Carth was off balance. Carth spun, pivoting on his toes, and the Aqualish's vibroblade passed harmlessly by. Carth finished his pivot, and slammed his guard into the Aqualish's jaw with the full force of his spin when the Aqualish recovered and turned back, snapping the Aqualish's head back. Something crunched, the shock vibrating from Carth's guard into his knuckles and up his arm; the Aqualish was flung backwards, knocking down a Trandoshan menacing a green Twi'lek.

Carth whirled to face the Rodian, who had gotten back to his feet by now. He blocked the Rodian's knife as it whistled towards his face by hitting the Rodian's wrist with his left fist, and brought up his vibroblade. The Rodian's eyes widened in belated panic as Carth's vibroblade swept towards his temple, knowing he couldn't stop the blow in time. At the last minute, Carth turned his blade so that its flat struck the Rodian's head, knocking him out. The Rodian slumped to the floor without a sound.

Carth resheathed his blade and realized he was panting, feeling sweat trickle down his face; it seeped into his collar and began to collect under his armor, making him itch. He drew in huge gulps of the stale cigarra smoke-laden air, and leaned on the wall as he took stock of himself. His knuckles hurt, and his left arm ached from the blows he'd blocked, but he was otherwise unharmed; he was going to have some spectacular bruises the next day. He looked around to see that the fight was winding down, then looked down speculatively at the unconscious Rodian and Aqualish; he squatted down and rifled through their credit pouches. He didn't come up with much, but he took what they had and walked over to the bar.

Carth leaned over to see the orange Twi'lek girl huddled in a quivering ball, doing her best to stifle her sobs and whimpers. _Poor kid._ He dropped most of the credits in front of her quickly, then leaned back and sat on a bar stool; he just had to hope the girl would recover enough to take the credits. He leaned an elbow on the bar counter, deceptively relaxed, hooking his thumb into his belt near his vibroblade as he caught his breath. He paid no overt attention to the green Twi'lek male taking a seat next to him, leaving an empty stool between them.

Carth watched the bouncers drag unconscious patrons off the floor and toss them outside. Other patrons still more-or-less upright went back to their seats or headed for the exits, unconscious friends slung over their shoulders or carried between two comrades.

"Those were some pretty good moves you showed there," a gravelly voice said in Basic.

Carth glanced at the green Twi'lek and feigned disinterest; he recognized the Sayir recruiter, of course. He snapped his fingers at the bartender, who had cautiously stuck his head above the counter. "Gimme a Corellian brandy," Carth ordered. "A waste," he added, drawling his disgust and boredom. "Fighting--_brawling_--with drunks is hardly a challenge."

"I noticed you didn't kill anyone," the Twi'lek said. "And you saved that girl."

Carth had his answer ready. He curled his lip, not looking at the Twi'lek. "I'm a mercenary; I only kill if I'm paid. I don't give out _free samples_. And the girl, well, she was just in my way." He dropped a small pile of credits on the bar, involuntary largesse provided by the Aqualish and the Rodian, leftover from what he hadn't given the girl. The bartender expertly caught the chit Carth flicked his way, and left the drink next to Carth's elbow.

Carth sipped his brandy and ignored the Twi'lek as he watched the remaining patrons settle back, and listened to the hum of conversation filling the silence instead of pained groans.

"Interested in work?" the Twi'lek said suddenly, after a few minutes had passed without either of them speaking.

Carth didn't look at him. "Maybe," he said, letting a note of wariness leak into his voice. _Gotcha_, Carth thought, with a strictly mental smile.

"I may not look it, but I'm a recruiter for one of the Houses. House Boro, to be specific," the Twi'lek said.

Carth turned to look at him this time, and raked the Twi'lek up and down, watching the Twi'lek watch him. He allowed a look of skepticism to settle on his face as he took in the Twi'lek's faded trousers, scuffed boots, battered half armor and the twin short vibroblades strapped in worn scabbards at his hips. Only the Twi'lek's precise and educated diction showed he wasn't just a mercenary like everyone else in the cantina.

"What's a House Boro?" Carth asked doubtfully, as if he had no idea what a House was. 'House Boro', of course, was the cover name House Sayir was using to hide their operations, so that no suspicion or recriminations would dirty Sayir's good name and reputation. But none of the mercenaries House Sayir was hiring would know that. Or care.

"A very rich House. A family-run business, if you will," the Twi'lek replied calmly, as he in turn took in Carth's appearance. "They can afford to pay their employees well. Very well indeed."

"Yeah? If they're so rich, why're you lookin' in a place," Carth said, twitching a finger off his glass to encompass the seedy cantina, "like this?" He made sure to allow a look of interest pass across his face before letting it fade into wariness.

"We're interested in hiring fighters, mercenaries or bounty hunters, and they frequent places such as this," the Twi'lek said. "We're always on the lookout for new blood, you see, since we know that, to compete in the arena of the Sluis Van business world, we must always stay one step ahead of our rivals."

"So what do you need mercenaries for?" Carth asked, attempting to look stolidly stupid, as if the second half of the Twi'lek's speech had gone way over his head. He didn't miss the flash of contempt in the Twi'lek's eyes. _Good, let him underestimate me._

"My House has many, many rivals, rivals who wouldn't hesitate to employ less-than-legal methods of obtaining our secrets. We need to hire protection, and you're just the sort of competent fighter we're looking for," the Twi'lek answered earnestly.

_And the more stupid, the better_, was unspoken, but Carth heard it anyway.

_And I'm a bantha's fat furry ass_, Carth thought, _if you expect me to believe that_. But the regular offworlder mercenary wouldn't know what Carth knew. Few offworlders would know House Sayir had plenty of local help to draw upon, and its own loyal retainers. They didn't need mercenaries who were only loyal to credits, which meant they were hiring offworlder mercenaries for some other purpose. And Carth had to find out what that purpose was.

Carth allowed his look of wary skepticism to deepen. "What's the pay?"

The Twi'lek took a datapad slowly out of his pouch, noting Carth's sudden tense alertness. He slid it across the counter towards Carth. Carth took the pad up nonchalantly, and read the contract slowly and carefully. It looked like a standard merc agreement, except that the amount being paid was not something most mercenaries ever saw without catching dangerous bounties, and lots of them.

Carth whistled appreciatively, as was expected of him. In truth, he really was impressed by the string of digits in the pay column. "What's the catch?" he asked suspiciously.

"Ah, the catch," the Twi'lek repeated, looking down into his glass. "The catch is that, for the duration of your contract, you may not step foot outside the House environs."

Carth scowled artfully at the Twi'lek. "_What_? I can't leave until my contract's done?" He hoped he had injected the right amount of surprise into his question. "Is there a provision in your contract for if I die of boredom?" he added sardonically.

The Twi'lek chuckled and sipped his drink. "I assure you, my House has all manner of amenities and entertainment for our employees. For a small fee, of course, but less expensive and much high in quality than anything you can get here," the Twi'lek said, waving a hand around at the dingy cantina, "for the same amount of credits." The Twi'lek held up his glass and looked at the contents thoughtfully. "You'll also receive significant discounts on weapons," here the Twi'lek openly appraised Carth's battered armor with a raised eyebrow, "and armor." He looked Carth directly in the eye. "A small price to pay for a freedom you'll have back as soon as your contract is over, surely? It is only for two weeks."

Carth contrived to look dubious but greedily interested. "How'll I know I'll get paid, huh? You could stiff me when the job's done."

The Twi'lek shook his head emphatically. "If you do a good job, you'll be paid. Credits will be transferred to a financial institution of your choice, although I understand those in your line of work prefer cold, hard credits. Untraceable, and therefore, untaxable credits. My House honors its debts, or we would not be a House worthy of serving."

Carth looked down at the datapad again, looking more thoughtful as he perused the amount of credits. "What do I gotta do?"

"You'll be told when you sign up," the Twi'lek answered. At Carth's frown, he elaborated. "Don't worry, you're not going to be asked to kill innocent civilians or anything like that," he added reassuringly.

Carth shrugged. "I'll kill whoever and whatever you want me to, as long as I get paid for it. I just don't like not knowing all the details up front," he said, hoping he hadn't laid it on too thick. He looked at the datapad again, then slipped it into his pocket. "I'll think about it." He couldn't afford to look too eager.

The Twi'lek shrugged. "When you make up your mind, just take that pad with you to the address listed. The guards will know to let you in. The moment you step foot into House Boro, however, means you've accepted the contract. And once you're in, there's no going back. My House is very secretive and very hard on disloyal employees. You will not be allowed to renege without losing your life."

Carth nodded and returned his attention to his drink. "I got it." The Twi'lek nodded back and rose, heading for one of the exits.

Carth didn't look, too conscious of the pad weighing down his pouch.

He was _in_.

* * *

Thanks to Prisoner24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback.

You may have noticed I've put in chapter titles. :)

snackfiend101: Whoa, I didn't think you would do it! Thanks for all the kind words. I'll attempt to address any questions you put in your reviews.  
Ch. 44: Thanks. I try to keep the Sithkid in character, and hopefully I've succeeded.  
Ch. 1: That flashback was inspired. I had to drop everything to write it!  
Ch. 2: Well, they _are_ Jedi Masters; showing their agitation any more overtly than breaking into whispers and muttering would break the union rules.  
Ch. 3: Thanks. Jolee's one that's hard for me to do proper justice to. Nah, they prolly can't ticket a Jedi.  
Ch. 4: Few, I think, would be able to take Revan's driving... Carth did pretty well, actually, since he didn't need a barf bag. :D  
Ch. 5: Well, Carth was rather distraught at the time...  
Ch. 6: Was Revan's guilt over-the-top? She feels terribly guilty, after all; she feels she messed up Carth and Dustil's reunion... And yes, having a little thing like a sword in your gut would probably distress anyone.  
Ch. 7: Hehee. More of a comic relief chapter than anything else...  
Ch. 8: Thanks. I consider this chapter one of the best I've written. Still my favorite.  
Ch. 9: Yeah. :) Revan has a thing for heights...  
Ch. 12: Gah, no. I'd never finish my fic! It was intended to be a typical Jolee phrase, and would make people laugh, but it underscores the seriousness of the situation our heroes are in, when they don't even crack a smile.  
Ch. 13: Thanks. No, I don't plan on writing that part of Dustil's life, unless I'm inspired. I did give the idea to VMorticia with my blessing, though I'm probably not the only one who thinks Selene was a Sith agent.  
Ch. 15: There's a story behind the Council's decision, but one I won't be telling for quite a while...  
Ch. 16: Yes, actually, congratulations for spotting my homage to Terry Pratchett. :D  
Ch. 18: I thought about having more Mission/Dustil interaction, but I just wasn't up to writing it.  
Ch. 19: Ain't kissing and telling...  
Ch. 24: I don't know, I can picture him saying that...  
Ch. 28: How do _you_ know you won't see him again? The story's not yet over, after all... :)  
Ch. 29: Confessing to Lady Versenne at this early date would be getting ahead of themselves, no?  
Ch. 30, 31: Aw, thanks. Good to know all the sweating and hair pulling I do over writing Dustil pays off. :)  
Ch. 34: Maybe. Maybe not. You'll just have to stay tuned, eh?  
Ch. 35: Too cliche on my part, do you think?  
Ch. 37: Confusing you, huh? Mwahaha, my plan continues apace!

Sera Terranova: Thanks. :) Dustil always gives me _so_ much trouble, drat him.

Feza's twin: Yes, it's time he grew up a tad more. And Dustil got arrested along with Revan, so any eye he keeps on her is, well, moot. And you know I'm not one to kiss and tell... ;)

ether-fanfic, Rascarin, thesnowman: Aw, thanks. You'll see... :maniacal laughter:

Prisoner 24601: Well, given our email and online discussions, having the same thought about something isn't really all that weird. :) And yeah, don't we all get all squirmy in our heads, thinking about our parents having sex, no matter how old we are? :) And yes, you're evil. Evil! :mutters something about prologues, long wait times and the dearth of the first chapter...:

arrow maker: Heh. Yes, yes it was evil. Now, now, Carth had to go off on his undercover mission... and really, can't the former Dark Lord of the Sith and an ex-Sith handle something like this by themselves? The answer next chapter! :D

Emeraldstargazer: Oh, yes, it does raise all sorts of questions. Mwahaha. Thanks... I try real hard to keep everyone in character; a big part of the reason I punted off all the other NPCs is because I would either a) never finish my fic, b) have a number of chapters that'll go into triple digits, c) I'm just not up to writing everybody (I have enough trouble writing Dustil!). But to quote Jolee: "Do you want to avoid the greatest things in life simply because they come with some complications?"

Lunatic Pandora1: :groan: And yes, everyone else is wondering that... Heh.

Thylja: Aw, thanks. I'm glad you think our intrepid trio are well-fleshed out characters. I try real hard to make sure they are.

Nyvanna: Revan radar indeed. :) Carth's Carth in disguise in disguise. What about Dustil?

Ceridan: What's so confusing? :)


	46. Runaround

**Chapter 46: Runaround**

Revan's eyes widened in shock and snapped to the police sergeant's. Dustil stared at him, just as wide-eyed. "Murder?" she repeated softly. "The murder of whom?" Her eyes darted to the grim-looking Vosaryk retainers. Dustil noticed that they were, all three, large, husky types: a tall, broad Twi'lek and two muscular Aqualish. They looked more like the type to pummel first and ask questions later, not the kind who'd go to the police.

_Lies! You're lying!_ Dustil's Force senses screamed at him, but he couldn't determine what, in particular, the man had been lying about. He stood frozen next to Revan.

Murder... whom were they supposed to have murdered? His thoughts spun uselessly around and around in his head, batting themselves against the inside of his skull.

It... it couldn't be Lady Versenne, surely...? Dustil's blood ran cold at the thought, and he felt his palms start to sweat. But... no, Dustil though, trying to get a grip on himself. If such an important person like Lady Versenne, the only heir to House Vosaryk, had been murdered, it would've been all over the holonews. Since there hadn't been any such furor, she had to be alive.

Dustil shook himself back into the present, and sensed more sentients approaching them; he spotted the blue and silver uniforms of the Sluis Van police moving towards them out of the corners of his eyes. The three in Vosaryk livery tensed and began to move out from behind the sergeant, slowly sliding sideways to surround him and Revan.

Revan put on her most charming smile and moved her hands in frantic negative at the sergeant. Dustil managed to catch her hand signals for _Danger_--_duh, no kidding_, he thought dryly--and the signal for _Wait_ while she'd been fluttering her fingers. Then he saw her flash the signal to follow. Dustil supposed that to mean to follow her lead.

"Sergeant, there must be some mistake! We couldn't possibly have murdered anyone in our very short stay in your lovely Transients Dome!" she exclaimed, distraught.

_Laying it on a little thick there_, Dustil thought, as he imperceptively gathered himself. His eyes darted to the Vosaryk retainers--assuming _they_ were real--then to the ones in police uniform moving slowly to surround them. Light winked and glittered on the muzzles of the blaster rifles they were holding in no-nonsense grips, leveled at him and Revan. The other patrons got up from their seats and left a growing number of empty tables between themselves and the two being arrested at the sight of the weapons.

The sergeant shook his head ponderously. "There is no mistake, Captain." He took out two pairs of electronic cuffs from his belt. "By the authority vested in me by the Sluis Van Conglomerate, I hereby place you, Captain, and you, Stiller, under arrest. You may summon an arbiter of your choice to speak for you at the station."

Dustil could tell that whole speech was a lie; the 'sergeant' was as real as his own persona of a smuggler. That pretty much cinched it; these weren't real police officers, so it followed that those weren't real Vosaryk retainers, no matter how convincing they looked. He wondered if those blaster rifles were set to stun, or were adjusted to a more lethal level.

Revan looked convincingly horrified but resigned. "Oh, but... but there must be some mistake! But I suppose everything will be cleared up later." She scowled and shot the sergeant a dark look. "After I find a competent arbiter." No threat Master Uthar had ever uttered could've matched the menace in that statement.

Revan held out her hands meekly in a gesture of surrender for the sergeant to cuff. Dustil did the same, mindful of the hand signal she'd flashed him. The sergeant looked nonplused at Revan's quick capitulation, but recovered to cuff her hands, then Dustil's. And it occurred to Dustil that, in taking the initiative in offering her surrender, the sergeant had cuffed their hands _in front of them_. Being handcuffed was never a great experience, but having their hands restrained in front rather than in the back would give them greater freedom of movement.

The other 'police officers' had flanked them by now, looked relaxed now that he and Revan were restrained. The other patrons watched them curiously from a safe distance, and a buzz of conversation arose from the crowds as the sergeant relieved him and Revan of their weapons. Dustil felt horribly naked and vulnerable without the comforting weights of the blasters at his hips, and he stiffened when the sergeant frisked him professionally and swiftly with a weapons scanner. The sergeant came up with nothing more threatening than pocket lint when he searched Revan, though; Dustil wondered, with intense curiosity, just where Revan had hid her lightsabers, since the sergeant hadn't found them.

Dustil's blasters, Revan's slugthrower and blades in hand, the sergeant lead them off to the same garage Dustil had parked their speeder. The other men formed a diamond around them, putting them in the center of their formation, with the retainers following along behind on the outside. Dustil felt claustrophobic, with the four very large men hemming him in on all sides, and his back itched, even though the ones with blaster rifles had slung them back over their shoulders. And that was another anomaly; police didn't usually subdue suspects with anything heavier than a blaster pistol, surely.

They approached an enclosed speeder, standard for the police--so that their suspects wouldn't jump out, Dustil supposed--marked with the Sluis Van Conglomerate logo and equipped with flashing alarm lights. Dustil eyed it quickly, noting the rather convincing paint job and equipment on it. It looked like every other police speeder he'd ever seen here. He wondered where they'd gotten it from; perhaps it wasn't too hard to fake.

Their footsteps echoed in the large cavern of a garage, the sounds bouncing back and forth between the walls so that it sounded like a whole platoon of people. The smell of speeder machine oil filled his nose, and the floor vibrated with a subtle hum generated from the ranks of speeders and swoops sitting quietly at rest on their repulsorlift cushions.

Dustil's eyes darted to Revan's as they walked, _When are we going to escape?_ _Soon_ was the answer, written in the quirk of her brows and lips. Dustil suppressed an impatient sigh, wondering what she was up to. And he wondered if his father put up with this _all the time_.

The sergeant climbed into the driver's seat of the speeder, while the others chivvied him and Revan into the backseat. One sat next to Dustil, keeping him away from the door, while the other sat on Revan's other side, sandwiching Revan next to him. Revan's thigh pressed against his, while the hard, muscled leg of one of their erstwhile keepers pressed his on the other side. It was entirely too intimate. Dustil sighed inwardly. Why was it that people who captured him were never attractive, buxom, women wearing nothing much?

At least the 'policemen' had put away their rifles, though Dustil could see the blaster pistols at their sides. The three Vosaryk retainers sat across from them, while the remaining policeman sat up front next to the sergeant. Dustil glanced aside at Revan, who sat with her cuffed hands demurely in her lap. The speeder rose up, accelerating as it approached the landing, then they were back out in the sunlight. Dustil blinked as his eyes adjusted to the brightness after the dim confines of the garage.

Dustil fought to keep from squirming around impatiently. Just when was Revan going to make a move? He glanced over the side of the speeder. Although... perhaps it would be best if they waited until they'd gone back down to ground to escape. Perhaps Revan was waiting for their captors to reveal themselves, since they couldn't possible be going to a real Sluis Van police station; in fact, he thought they'd just passed one. It would make sense for them to find out just whom had set them up like this... Of course, they _could_ just be planning to take them to an empty alley somewhere and blast them both in the back of their heads, no fuss, no muss. Not that either he nor Revan would just meekly submit to that.

The speeder continued to fly towards one edge of the Transients Dome, to one of the massive tubes that connected Transients Dome to the other Sluissi habitats. Maybe they were heading to one of the other habitats. He wondered if the 'sergeant' was getting at all suspicious of them, that they hadn't protested at not being taken to a local police station. He glanced at the retainers and at the two men flanking him and Revan. They looked relaxed, their guards down, though not enough to converse. If they planned to kill them, they were either stone-cold killers, excellent actors or they weren't actually, in fact, going to kill them. Perhaps they just intended to capture them.

Dustil thought about how easy it would be, to impose his will on theirs and unleash the fears everyone had, the fears that were buried deep down in their subconscious minds in the day, but came out to play at night... He pushed that urge aside; it was probably not a good idea when they were trapped like this, though. Damn, but he hated being helpless. Weak.

Revan glanced at him, as if reading his thoughts, frowning slightly. She twitched her head infinitesimally in a negative. Dustil jerked his own head, as if he were stretching cramped muscles, in reluctant agreement, probably looking the very picture of a surly, sullen prisoner. The Vosaryk retainers sitting in front of them paid them no apparent attention, looking bored. Their easy capitulation had lowered their guards.

Now if they could just damned well take advantage of that...

The speeder slowed as it slid into a queue of speeders and other craft at one of the tubes. Beside him, he could feel Revan's thigh muscles tighten. Dustil tensed, too, as unobtrusively as he could, and called on the Force to lend him greater speed, feeling Revan do the same.

_Now!_

Dustil jerked at that mental cry in his head, and brought his hands up and around to smash the cuffs into the face of the man sitting next to him. The bellow of pain was deafening in the enclosed space of the speeder, and the vibration of the impact rang satisfactorily up Dustil's arms. Blood spurted as he broke the man's nose with an audible crack. He kicked in the knee of the retainer sitting across from him, and was deafened again by the man's yell of pain.

Revan drove her elbow into the temple of the man sitting on her side, then threw her cuffs off and snatched the dazed man's blaster from his holster. Dustil found himself free of his own restraints; Revan must've used the Force to open them. Dustil snatched at the blaster from the man whose nose he'd broken, spun the setting quickly to stun and shot the man. Then he swung his arm around to stun the Twi'lek and Aqualish sitting across from him. They slumped back, falling unconscious in their seats. Revan had dealt the same to her opponent and the other Aqualish sitting across from her.

It had all happened in a matter of seconds. Dustil leaned forward over the bodies of the fake retainers and pressed the muzzle of his blaster to the back of the sergeant's head, while the one in the seat next to him was ruthlessly stunned by Revan. The other policeman's head slumped forward to rest against the dashboard. The sergeant had frozen at the touch of the blaster, but Dustil had to give him points for staying so calm.

"This is resisting arrest, Captain, as well as assault on a police officer, both of which carries heavy penalties. I urge you to surrender your weapons, and the court may show leniency for your cooperation," the sergeant said quietly, but a bead of sweat rolled down the side of his head, belying the calm in his words.

Revan draped herself over the seat, her knee pressing indifferently into a collapsed Aqualish's stomach so that she could see the sergeant's face. "I think it's time we gave up this pretense, don't you think? You're about as real a police sergeant as I am a Hutt." She slithered over the seat, pushing the man in front of her down off the seat until the unconscious man was crumpled against the seatwell. She sat cross-legged, pressing the muzzle of her own blaster into the sergeant's temple. Dustil reached down awkwardly over the seat and relieved the sergeant of his blaster pistol.

"Now, you'll take this speeder down, nice and easy, to the nearest landing pad. No sudden moves, please," Revan commanded, moving her blaster away once Dustil had pressed his blaster back to the man's head once more.

The man tensed suddenly, and his knuckles turned white on the controls. More sweat beaded on his forehead.

Revan leaned over to nudge the man's side with her blaster. "If you try to plunge this speeder down or do something equally ill-considered, I'm still fast enough to grab the controls when my partner stuns you. You won't accomplish anything worthwhile by being stubborn." She fluttered her free hand. "_You want to cooperate with us_," she said, Force compulsion laden in her words.

"I... want to cooperate with you," the sergeant repeated in a daze.

Revan beamed. "I'm glad you're seeing reason. Now, let's do get on with it," she said cheerfully.

Dustil eyed her, not slackening his blaster on the sergeant's head; she looked unnaturally bright and chipper. That was never a good sign, although whether it boded ill for their captors or for them, he didn't know.

The speeder was set down gently on the landing pad of one of the many rooftop garages that littered buildings in the Transients Dome. Dustil relaxed slightly now that they were back on solid ground.

Revan leaned forward. "Now, tell me who you really are, 'sergeant'," she murmured. "Who are you, and who sent you?" She poked her blaster pointedly into the man's side.

The sergeant stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about," he growled.

Dustil pushed the blaster muzzle harder against the man's head. "I think you do know, 'sergeant'," he said. "_You want to tell us who you really are_," he added, using the Force to compel obedience.

"I'm..." the sergeant began, his face growing slack as Dustil imposed his will against his. The mind Dustil struggled to pin down was surprisingly slippery, and his mental hold skittered. "I... I don't..." the sergeant said, then his voice firmed. "I don't know what you're talking about," he repeated. Dustil saw the scowl forming on the man's face in the rearview mirror.

Damn it, it didn't work. A shadow passed overhead, then another. Revan frowned and stuck her head out the window, then she hurriedly stuck it back in.

"Damn!" she exclaimed irritably. "You called your friends, didn't you?" she asked the sergeant accusingly.

The smug look on the sergeant's face was all the answer they needed.

"What?" Dustil asked Revan, unable to look for himself since he had his blaster to the man's head.

"Two more speeders are circling suspiciously overhead," Revan said grimly. "No time to interrogate our friend here." She pointed her blaster at the man's face, whose eyes widened in panic before closing shut when she stunned him, and he slumped against the controls. Revan grabbed up Dustil's blasters from the compartment in the dashboard and strapped her slugthrower back on.

Dustil slid out of his side of the speeder, stumbling over the unconscious bodies. Revan had grabbed up her swords from where the sergeant had put them under his seat, and buckled them on after she'd clambered out.

"Come on, we have to get going!" she called to Dustil, and began trotting rapidly to the exit, an elevator next to the emergency stairs that went down into the building.

"It'll be faster if we take the stairs," she said, once Dustil had caught up with her. "We can both use the Force to move faster than any repulsorlift elevator."

The dots of the circling speeders were growing bigger when Dustil looked up over his shoulder, and the filtered sunlight gleamed and glittered on the muzzles of blaster rifles. "Right, but let's get moving already," he said impatiently. "I don't think they'll be as gentle the second time around."

Revan nodded and slipped down the stairs. "Would've liked more time to get some information out of them," she said plaintively. Then she blurred down the stairs, and he followed after, the Force moving him more quickly than was humanly possible.

The walls and steps blurred past as they went around and around, back and forth down the stairs. Then they finally reached the ground floor and nipped out past some startled Sullustans and out the door, where they found themselves in a loading bay. Several freight speeders were unloading packages at the back entrance of what looked to be a hotel. The space was filled with droids moving back and forth busily, lift platforms being maneuvered and the shouts of the drivers as they hurried to offload supplies. It was easy enough for two humans to slip through the bustle and out into the crowded street.

"Where to now?" Dustil asked as they mingled with the crowd. They appeared to be somewhere in the tourist shopping district, since merchandise booths spilled out into the streets, and colorful items were prominently on display, being examined by sentients of all races.

Revan took out her datapad and punched up a map. "Well, anywhere's fine, actually, but we really need to go to ground and take a breather. We need to figure out who's after us, and why."

A thought struck Dustil as he narrowly avoided being struck by a group of Duros moving past him. "Hey... how'd they find us in the first place, anyway?" he asked with some alarm. "And how'd they know who we are?"

"Good questions, and I have answers for none of them, Dustil," Revan said with a scowl. "I really wish I'd had time to ask that so-called sergeant..."

"If they know who we are, doesn't that mean they know where we're staying?" Dustil asked, his thoughts racing.

"Damn, you're right," Revan agreed, eyes widening. "And we've got all sorts of incriminating data in our rooms." She slapped her communicator. "JC-01, BR-01, activation code Revan-24601-alpha. Acknowledge!" she muttered. The dull roar of the crowd around them drowned out her soft murmur. "It's a good thing we're all packed and ready to go," she mumbled to Dustil.

The response came immediately. "JC-01, acknowledging," came the tinny voice of the servitor droid, his precise and correct accent rolling smoothly. "BR-01, acknowledging. What are your orders, Master?"

"Take all of our stuff, and I mean all of it, and take it to a hotel. Just pick one at random, something in the same class range of our current hotel will do, somewhere far from it. Remember to uninstall the countersurveillance devices from our suites," Revan ordered. Dustil rubbed his fingers against his thumb at her. "Oh, and don't use any of our accounts to pay for the rooms. There should be a bunch of credits in a red pouch in Carth's footlocker, there should be plenty in there to pay for three nights' lodging."

"Acknowledged. Shall I contact you on this channel once we have checked into the other hotel?"

"No, I'll contact you," Revan replied, fingering the braid wrapped around her neck in thought. "Maintain communications silence. Go on and make the preparations as fast as you can, because I don't know how much of a lead I've given you. If you have to, abandon our possessions, but make sure you don't leave behind any of our personal effects. Clothes and such can be discarded if need be, but not our data chips or the security computer. And we'll need all of our weapons."

"Understood, Master."

Dustil grimaced at the thought of losing his stuff, but he'd dump it all in a heartbeat if it meant not being captured.

"Revan, out." Revan slapped her commlink off. "Hopefully they won't think we've gone back there."

"Right. It'd suck if whoever they are got their hands on the logs we stole," Dustil agreed, eeling his way through a group of tourists lead by a human in a brightly-colored jumpsuit. "But what about us?"

Revan placed a hand on his arm, relying on him to navigate them while she perused the map on her pad. "We'll go habitat hopping," she said after a moment. "We can catch the transport module out to the Hes Dome, then catch another to the capital. And maybe we'll catch one of these guys to question." She sighed and pulled a sour face. "I should've been prepared for this eventuality. A real covert ops team would've established two or three boltholes just in case something like this happened. I'm still just a dabbling dilettante at this."

"But you're not a real covert ops agent, you can't be expected to know all this stuff." Dustil looked up when he felt a sudden twitch in the Force, the kind that usually alerted him to danger. "Uh, heads up, but I think they've caught up with us," he muttered.

Revan looked up, looking shocked, craning her neck to see over the heads of the crowd. She was too short, though, to be able to see anything. "Damn, how'd they find us so fast?" she muttered, disgruntled, giving up the futile search.

"They're dressed in police uniform, and they're coming this way," Dustil muttered to her. He began looking for exits. It was a shame they couldn't use their speeder, but it was too dangerous. If their captors could find out their names and faces, they would know about the speeder they'd rented.

"Here, this way," Revan said, tugging him in the direction of a crowded outdoor café.

Dustil dodged behind Revan around patrons at their small tables and server droids, making his way to the inside of the narrow café. They pushed past more droids and patrons who were quite miffed at their rudeness, and through the back into the hot, steamy kitchen. The head cook, a fat Zeltran, looked up, and bellowed shrilly at them to get out of her domain. Dustil scurried after Revan out the back delivery entrance, hurried along by the menacing ladle the cook brandished in one doughy hand.

"I can't sense any Force users around, Dustil, do you?" Revan asked as they pelted down a narrow alley, much cleaner than most in the galaxy. She cocked her head this way and that, as if listening for something.

Dustil shook his head. "No, I can't," he answered, dodging around neatly-stacked packing bins.

Revan jerked her head up, then pushed him into an alcove, a closed service entrance into the building forming one side of the alley. A speeder cast a sleek silhouette high up on the opposite wall before moving slowly away.

"Damn, we need to figure out how they're finding us, or we'll just be chased all over the planet!" Revan muttered, glaring after the speeder shadow.

They emerged out of the alcove and continued to run towards a transport module station.

"Huh. If you can't sense one, and _I_ can't sense one, then it's either a Force user who's learned to mask his presence in the Force completely... or they're using more mundane methods of tracking us. Frankly, I'd put my credits on the latter," Revan said as they slowed their headlong rush slightly. "Only one Jedi has ever been able to mask himself in the Force so completely as to fool not only me, but also Bastila and Juhani, and he's back on Coruscant."

"You mean Jolee?" Dustil asked, keeping an eye on the sky for more speeders as he followed her.

"Yeah," Revan said, pausing at the alley mouth to look both ways down the street before continuing on. "I didn't sense him until I saw him fighting some katarns in the Shadowlands on Kashyyyk. He's taught me the trick of it, and how to penetrate such camouflage."

"Oh, that explains why you, uh..." Dustil said with dawning understanding.

"Don't light up like one of the Tatooine suns?" Revan finished for him, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Uh, yeah," Dustil agreed. "You look... normal to my senses, except when you're using the Force, and even then it's... quiet. Not like the, uh, auras I've seen around Force users on Korriban."

"That's the end result of a great deal of practice. Subtlety saves time and energy," Revan said primly. "Now, finding someone who's doing what I'm doing is a bit like finding a fifty-credit chit in a sea of ten-credit chits. Same shape, same size, nearly the same color... I'm trying to find a stillness where stillness shouldn't be, and I can't sense any such thing here."

"Then they're tracking us some other way," Dustil concluded as he dashed across the street, dodging around sentients. Revan followed right after, and they both began running again through yet another alley. Dustil could see a glimpse of a transport module waiting at the end of the alley.

"Right," she said, puffing slightly. "The question is, how? We'll answer why later."

They ran up a curving ramp to where a transport module waited at a platform; at this time of day, the platform was crowded with workers and the morning rush crowd. The module was long and vaguely cylindrical, with no particular distinguishing features, made up of equally-sized cars. This being the profit-driven world of Sluis Van, it was plastered all over with colorful holosigns and advertisement vidscreens.

The transport modules were the primary means of mass transportation within and between habitats. It should, thought Dustil, be pretty hard for their captors to find them while they were riding one. They could switch stations constantly, and it may make it harder for them to track if they went outside of Transients Dome to one of the other habitats. The electronic noise generated by the module's repulsorlift system might also serve to mask them from whatever was tracking them.

Dustil swung into one of the doorways just as it nearly closed. The doors popped back open when he blocked them, and he was able to get inside, Revan squeezing in behind him. The doors hissed closed with, it seemed, an exasperated finality.

It was damned uncomfortable for Dustil, being squeezed between a rather overweight Gran and an only slightly thinner human man, and claustrophobic. He wasn't used to being crowded like this; he'd been given a wide berth back on Korriban because he was a Sith, and no one had dared to jostle his elbow. Now he was being jostled all over his body. And the smell of so many sentients in such a small space was assaulting his nose.

Revan couldn't be anymore comfortable than he was, pressed up against his back. He immediately made a face when he found himself enjoying her warm presence. _What am I_ thinking? _She's_ Father's _girlfriend, and she's... she's _old, _dammit_! But he had to admit she was also pretty, and she felt nicely soft against his back...

_Oh, no, I'm catching whatever it is my father has!_ He rolled his eyes up at the ceiling, feeling his cheeks heat, and stared studiously at the holosign up there advertising hyperdrives. It had to be claustrophobia messing up his brain...

A melodic voice interrupted his embarrassed ruminations, announcing the name of the next stop in Basic. They had arrived in Hes Dome, the next habitat over from Transients Dome. Revan tapped his shoulder, indicating to him that they should get off. She seemed, to his relief, to be completely oblivious to his thoughts.

Dustil popped out of the doors along with a horde of other sentients, and tried not to feel like a crumpled piece of bread. He breathed in deeply of the mechanical smells of the platform, and the air smelled wonderfully sweet after the crowded confines of the module.

Revan beckoned to him and they moved off down the platform. They ran into the crowds below, a little sparser here than the district in Transients Dome they'd just left, probably because the shops here catered to sentients interested in geological and items of a chemical nature. Revan took out her datapad again, and lead him at a fast walk along a street at random.

Dustil had been thinking over what had happened to them on the ride, when he hadn't been embarrassed by how Revan had been pressed so closely against him. "You know... they found us after you'd registered us for a shuttle," he said to her as they moved through the streets.

Revan looked up from her datapad to frown at him. "I suppose they could've kept watch at the registration booth, or they've got a line into the computer system, but that doesn't explain how they're tracking us."

They both halted right in their tracks as they reached the conclusion at the same time.

"The bloody token!" Revan cried, digging it out from a vest pocket.

Dustil stared at the credit-sized disc in her hand as they began to walk again. "Is it big enough to have a tracker on it?"

Revan closed her hand over it and put it back into her pocket. "A tracker can be as small as an insect dropping. Something this large wouldn't be a problem." She chewed her lip.

"Why would they have tracking devices in their tokens, anyway?" Dustil asked as they moved along the street, past stores selling all manner of mining equipment.

Revan shook her head. "I don't know. It could be a totally legitimate reason, such as using it to keep track of their clients while they're at the shipyard..."

"Do you think maybe it really _is_ House Vosaryk that's after us?" he asked uncertainly, with a certain amount of trepidation at the thought. If that were true... what did House Vosaryk think they'd done? What did _Lady Versenne_ think they'd done? And why?

"I don't think so... For one thing, it would've been so much easier to capture us while we were on our way to the shipyard. Where could we escape to, after all, once we were in space?" Revan mused.

Dustil shrugged. "Maybe they didn't want to scare the rest of their clients doing that?"

"Maybe... although I find it disturbing that someone managed to slice into the Vosaryk computer system to use this token to track us. It shows a mind that knows what these tokens are, and what they can do... And that we had one. I wonder if they know of the extent of our involvement with House Vosaryk." Revan shook her head vigorously. "Anyway, the man was lying through his teeth. We both sensed that."

"He was lying about being a police sergeant, not that those men weren't real House Vosaryk retainers," Dustil pointed out, just to be contrary.

Revan gave him a pained look. "I really doubt a House retainer would do such a thing, especially when they didn't show us their credentials. Besides, remember when I told you a House protects its own? They wouldn't bother with the police if they thought we'd murdered a Vosaryk subject. They'd kill us first and talk to the police later."

Dustil scrunched up his face. "Wouldn't the police be pretty pissed about the Houses taking matters into their own hands like that?"

"That's if the police knew in the first place," Revan said, shrugging. "Happily, something like that almost never happens."

"Almost never?"

"Well, need I remind you that Lady Versenne did get kidnapped?" Revan said dryly, pausing to peruse a display of gem cutting equipment in a store window. "What I mean is, resorting to violence in the Sluis Van milieu is considered gauche and unprofessional. A more cutting move that'd be admired by your enemies and friends alike would be a hostile takeover, not blaster wielding."

Dustil pretended interest in a rack of stone polishing machinery in the same store window, watching the reflection of his face screwing up. "That's... weird," he finally concluded.

Revan shrugged, straightening back up and continuing down the street. "I imagine it's because it's a less direct approach than a challenge to a lightsaber duel, I'll give it that. There's apparently no fun in gloating if your opponent isn't alive to be humiliated."

Dustil scratched his head, then gave up trying to make any sense of it. "Politics..." he mumbled darkly.

"Right now, it's the more direct sort of politics who're after us," Revan quipped.

"Speaking of which, what're we going to do about that token?" Dustil asked. "We can't have it actively tracking us."

Revan tapped her fingers against each other, then consulted her datapad. "I'm tempted to flush it down the nearest sewer, and let them go on a merry chase down there, but we need it to get to the shipyard and get our ship back."

"What about using the Force to short out the tracker?" Dustil suggested, remembering how she'd made the cameras explode in their hotel room as she tried to get the hang of using the Force to blind them.

"I could do that, but I might also short out the bits that have our identification encoded. I don't trust my control to be that exact yet," Revan said, shaking her head. "No, there's a much simpler way."

"What's that?"

Revan looked speculatively at the stores they were passing; these stores sold packing equipment and special boxes to carry volatile chemicals. "Buy something that'll block emissions."

"Like...?" Dustil asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Like those little handy boxes for carrying radioactive or dangerous materials, like the ones I saw some of those archaeologists using on Korriban to hold probable Sith artifacts they'd dug up. They should do well enough, don't you think?" Revan said thoughtfully.

Dustil nodded. He remembered those archaeologists doing that ever since that time an archeologist had gone mad when she'd touched a Sith necklace she'd found with her bare hand.

"Er, where are we going to buy one of those? They're not exactly commonplace items you can just buy from anyplace," Dustil said dubiously.

"No, but if there's one thing I've learned during our stay here, it should be that, on Sluis Van, you can buy damn near _anything_," Revan said. She tapped for a second on her datapad and showed it to him. "Here, I've found a shop, and one not four blocks from here."

Dustil nodded. "Okay, let's go. Do we have enough credits?" he asked, as they began to jog towards the shop.

Revan patted the many pockets on her vest before answering. "I think so. I always carry a bit of loose credits on me."

Dustil waited impatiently outside the shop to keep an eye out for sinisterly circling speeders and policemen who weren't policemen. A few minutes later, Revan emerged with a small box the size of a data case.

"Do you think that'll work?" Dustil asked as they set off again for another module station.

Revan nodded. "I think so, but it's hard to tell when I haven't got a scanner on me--"

"Uh-oh," muttered Dustil. "Too late." He didn't need to turn around to see several Sluis Van policemen heading through the crowds after them. He'd seen their reflections in the store windows as soon as he'd felt the subtle ripple through the Force.

"Yeah, I sense them, too," Revan muttered back. "I think they're trying not to draw too much attention to themselves, though, which may make things easier for us."

They eeled through the crowds faster, both of them using the Force to move more swiftly. Dustil glanced back over his shoulder, and was startled to see more sentients that screamed of trouble to his senses emerging from nearby alleys. They were all dressed in police uniform, and the crowds were parting automatically for them. So much for protective camouflage.

Looking around the boulevard, Dustil saw that there were a lot more sentients around as they left the geological equipment-inclined shops behind and entered the local restaurant district. The crowds in Hes Dome were slightly less packed than the ones in the Transients Dome were, at least.

He could inject a great deal of the crowd-goers around them with fear, which would have the salutary effect of tangling their pursuers up. And the ones he infected would in turn scare others... A riot would definitely stop their pursuers in their tracks for a while. It was something he could do offensively, not just running away. He hated feeling scared--so it was time to teach those chasing them a little lesson...

A little bit of concentration to gather the Force in his metaphorical hands to shape it to his intentions, and to amplify his power to spread fear to the greatest amount of sentients, then he was ready to mentally reach out to the nearest around him and--

Revan swatted his ear.

"Ow!" Dustil cried, more in surprise than in pain. Concentration completely broken, he turned to glare at Revan, raising a hand to rub at his ear. "What the hell was that for?" he asked indignantly.

Revan glared back up at him. "Do you want to be trampled into paste by a frightened mob? Because that's what you'd get if you used your powers to incite fear in so many people all at once!" she hissed coldly at him.

"But they're closing in!" Dustil said angrily. "If we don't slow them down, they'll catch us!" A flash of blue and silver caught his and her eyes, seeming to emphasize his words.

Revan's eyes darted left and right without moving her head. "Okay, you're right, but there's more than one way to skin a gizka." She began patting the many pockets on her vest.

"Have you got a grenade on you?" Dustil asked, keeping a close watch on the men closing in out of the corners of his eyes while also trying to watch his step and move faster through the throngs.

Revan snorted. "No, I don't need anything so ostentatious, and, um, violent. Although I won't guarantee anything if we don't get right out of here after I do this."

Her hands came out of her pockets overflowing with credits, which she threw out over the crowd. Showers of brightly-colored credit chits--ten, twenty, fifty and even a few hundred-credit chits--flew all over the place, hitting people on their heads and faces.

The crowds reacted predictably to the largesse from heaven, and soon the 'police' were blocked by hundreds of bodies in the street, all of them fighting over the credits. Dustil saw one or two of their pursuers go down under the press of the crowds.

Dustil and Revan pelted out of there, leaving the screams of outrage and grunts of pain from the scrimmage behind them.

"I'm not sure my way wouldn't have been better," Dustil panted as he ran.

"It would've been cheaper, certainly," Revan said, with a faintly pained look on her face at all the credits she'd just thrown away. "But trust me, a completely mindless crowd is a danger to everyone. Which is not to say that pack behind us is any too smart, but they're not completely senseless with fear. That should buy us a bit of time."

"Not a lot, not unless you put that tracker into that case you bought," Dustil demurred.

"Right. What we need is five minutes with some peace and quiet to think up a plan," Revan said.

They slowed their pace and stopped to catch their breaths. Dustil leaned on a wall and wiped the sweat off his face. The scent of some kind of stew from the restaurant entrance nearby wafted to him as sentients came and went.

"We have to get rid of it, or they'll catch us, sooner or later," Dustil said glumly.

"Right..." Revan's eyes unfocused slightly as she thought. "We can lose it, preferably in a way that would also get them off our trail." She stared across the street, where speeders were unloading and loading cargo containers of all sizes at the delivery entrance of a mail depot.

Dustil idly watched sentients coming out or going in with packages from the depot. Offworlders needed places that would take their mail when they arrived on Sluis Van and planned to stay for any amount of time, since they offered a fixed address for traders and merchants. Mail depots were scattered all over the place in the Transients Dome, and at least one were in each of the habitats.

A smile of unholy glee slowly spread across Revan's face as her eyes sharpened. Dustil stared at her with extreme wariness. "What're you thinking?" he asked carefully. Never trust a smiling rancor, and Revan now looked exactly like one, differences in species be damned.

"I'm thinking we should bloody well _mail_ this problem," Revan said, holding up the disc. She straightened and trotted across to the mail depot. Dustil hastily followed.

"Mail it?" Dustil said, thinking about it. A reluctant smile quirked his lips. "So that they'll follow _it_ while it goes through the mail system. A mail system that goes _all over Sluis Van_." His smile grew until it matched Revan's. "That's... evil." He gave her a look of grudging admiration.

Revan smiled wryly. "I know. I'd feel guilty, except they deserve it. Come on."

Fifteen minutes later, they were gone from Hes Dome and were now sitting at one of the Transients Dome's many outdoor cafés, on the other side of the habitat from where they'd been picked up, just in case.

"That took care of what was tracking us, but now what?" Dustil asked Revan, swallowing a bite of sandwich. He tried to ignore the shimmer in the air generated by Revan's white noise generator.

Revan idly peered over the side of the railing that kept people from pitching forward over and down a ten-meter drop. "I don't know yet," she answered. "What we need is more data. The only thing I can think of for someone to attack us like this is because we've been working for Lady Versenne," she mused, frowning thoughtfully.

"So... someone must've found out we're working for her, which might explain why they had people in Vosaryk uniforms when they came to get us, but who could it be? Could it be Khyrohn found out about us somehow? They've got the most motivation," Dustil said speculatively.

"Could be," Revan said absently, picking at her dessert. "They've got the resources, certainly. And they would have that knowledge of tracking us using the shipyard token."

"Do you think maybe it's time we called on Lady Versenne?" Dustil asked, trying not to sound too eager. "This looks like something she could help us with."

Revan nodded slowly. "I think maybe you're right. There's only so much legwork two people can do, even if we're both Force Sensitive. Besides, we're only in trouble because of her. Who knows, this might lead to a break as to whom had tried to kidnap her. She should be interested in that alone."

Dustil swallowed the last bit of his sandwich and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "When do we go?"

Revan waved down a server droid to settle their tab. "As soon as we acquire some... proof."

Dustil raised his eyebrows. "Proof?"

Revan nodded firmly. "Proof. I think one of those men chasing us will do."

"What're we going to do, box him up and gift wrap him?" Dustil said sarcastically.

"Hey, I didn't think of that. Good idea. There's got to be a place around here that sells packing crates in the right size..." Revan looked at Dustil's scrunched up look of skepticism. "What, do you think you can _carry_ one of those hulking brutes further than ten paces? And explain what you're doing with what looks like an unconscious policeman to the shuttle pilot?"

"You mean we're really going to bring one of those people up to see Lady Versenne? Like a, a hunting trophy?" Dustil said in faint disbelief.

Revan raised an ironic eyebrow. "I plan to bring more than just a head, but yes. We need to show her _something_. Something that's plainly tangible. Remember, to her we're just a couple of disrespectful offworlders who're marginally smarter than the rest, and can do a few neat tricks."

"I think you're not giving her enough credit," Dustil said, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows.

"Probably." Revan shrugged. "But we still need to bring something to prove our story. The one I'd like to get is the one who pretended to be a sergeant, the one who arrested us. He seemed to be the leader, so he might know something more than the others."

Dustil scratched his head. "How're we going to find him? They didn't exactly have calling cards."

"He should've recovered from blaster stun by now... he should be in on the search. As for finding him, well, we give them what they want." The gleam in Revan's eyes boded ill for that sergeant.

"We're bait, in other words," Dustil said bluntly.

"Yes, but the hunted are about to become the hunters, and they won't know what hit them." Revan smiled, slowly, a nasty smile that wouldn't have looked out of place on a firaxan shark.

Dustil felt his face stretch, remarkably enough, with a slow matching grin. Force help him, but he actually _liked_ this idea. He didn't like feeling helpless and being... hunted. Time to turn the tables. And as an added bonus, he would get to see Lady Versenne after all this was over. He tried not to think about what he was actually doing, _agreeing_ to one of Revan's plans.

"Right. When do we start?" he asked, resisting the urge to rub his hands together in anticipation.

"Now. Come on, I think I've got an idea..." Revan stood after paying their lunch tab.

"Uh-oh," Dustil said automatically as he stood also.

Revan wrinkled her nose at him. "You sounded just like your father when you said that."

Dustil tried to decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing, as he followed Revan out the doors and walked through the shadowy canyon of the tall buildings.

*** * ***

Dustil turned his head this way and that, trying to spot the blue and silver of their pursuers. He'd actually come across _real_ policemen, who'd been easy enough for him to spot and dodge because they didn't chase after him. Which was good, because it meant whoever it was chasing after them hadn't corrupted the police force. At least, not yet. He wasn't sure if that was because they hadn't had enough time to do so, didn't think it was worth doing or didn't want to involve themselves with another organization.

He wore an unobtrusive earbug Revan had found in one of her vest pockets, found amongst some old sticks of chewing gum, a pad stylus, loose credits and some demolitions plaster, of all things.

The earbug was tuned to the channel their pursuers were using to organize the chase, a work of a few hours while Revan had used her datapad and her agent interface visor to tap into the communications net. Searching the _personal_ communications channels had taken a bit longer, but they'd managed to find it and decode the encryption scrambling the channel. A short trip to a mail depot and they had their token again, and the bait was all set up.

"_I thought I saw the boy run down this way,_" Dustil heard. It sounded like the sergeant. _Boy? Boy?!_ he fumed indignantly.

He pretended to peruse a selection of jewelry in a shop window while actually looking at the reflection of the street behind him. The after lunch crowd swelled the streets, making it difficult for him to see anything. This particular district of the Transients Dome was full of shops that sold jewelry and accessories, not too far from the food shops. He could smell some of the cooking odors from here.

"_Any sign of the woman?_" Dustil heard as he straightened up and ambled down the street, attempting to move fast without appearing to do so.

"_No, but I just saw the boy. He's on Glitter Street, moving north from Casner to Kobi._"

"_Finally. The signal is nearby, so the woman can't be too far. They must've thought we'd given up after this long. This has gone on too long already. They're making us look bad,_" the sergeant said.

"_A woman who doesn't come up to your shoulder and a boy who's just started to shave? Yeah, I'd say we look bad, alright. It didn't help when they escaped from, what, seven of you?_"

"_They took us by surprise,_" the sergeant grumbled. "_I still can't figure out how they got their cuffs off..._"

"_The others have set up an ambush at Kobi and Siro. Still no sign of the woman, but maybe she'll come out once we've got the boy._"

"_I'd better go and see, make sure they don't underestimate these two. _This_ time we're damn well going to stun them first._"

"_Splashy. Look at how many people are out there._"

"_This is why we've got these uniforms. People will stay away from a police investigation._"

"_I'd prefer it if we took them quietly. And I'm not the only one who'd want this operation to be low-key. We don't want to do anything that'll attract attention at this late date._"

"_Too late for that. This is our best chance. Come on._"

Dustil stopped to check out another window, this display showing the latest fashion in clothing on Sluis Van. That should've given enough time for Revan to pinpoint the sergeant's location.

_I've spotted him. Ready?_

Dustil nearly jumped out of his skin. This form of Force communication was something he'd only read about, not had it done to him. It was uncanny, even if it _was_ a form of communication no one could monitor. Unfortunately, he wasn't proficient enough to answer back, so he just unrolled his left sleeve up and scratched the inside of his elbow, which was the prearranged signal for him to show he'd heard, and was ready to move.

He trotted to the corner of Glitter and Kobi, and didn't see the men who had to be lying in wait for him. Sweat started to bead on his forehead as he tried not to think about the fact that he was walking straight into an ambush. At the last moment, he turned into a store selling leather accessories and items, moving towards the back of the shop.

"_Shit!_" Dustil heard the angry curse ringing in his ear. "_He's gone into that shop!_"

"_No need to panic just yet. We'll just cut him off in the back. This is good, actually. None of the crowd is going to see us catch him. You go with some of the men to guard the front entrance, and I'll take the rest to block the back,_" Dustil heard the sergeant say.

Dustil idly perused a leather jacket on the rack in front of him and waved away the sales droid when it asked him if he needed any assistance. He mentally took note of the location of the shop; his father might like some of the selections in here.

He took the brown-and-tan jacket off its hanger and moved casually to one of the fitting rooms. Once inside, he activated the stealth generator Revan had lent him. He bent down and crawled out from beneath the swinging doors, which was easy enough, since there were a few feet of clearance. He snuck by the sales droid slowly and caught sight of the 'police' just as he reached the side of the door. The sales droid immediately went to offer its assistance, distracting them, which gave him just enough time to slip out the door just after the last of the group of four had entered.

Dustil dodged around to the back into a narrow alley, trusting in the movement of the crowd to shield his shimmering stealth field from any observers their pursuers might've left behind. He slowed as he approached the rear exit of the shop, mindful of the alert men who had to be just outside it, and turned off the stealth field.

Looking up, Dustil saw the many bridges spanning the upper sections of the buildings here, so that it seemed there was an entire web of interlocking walkways from street level. It reminded him a bit of the Wookiee village he'd visited on Kashyyyk, with its interlocking wooden paths in the high branches of the wroshyr trees. The design portioned out limited space vertically, so that there were different shops on different floors, accessible by repulsorlift platforms.

Revan was supposed to be hiding right underneath one of the walkways, hidden in the shadows directly above the rear exit doorway. He couldn't see her, though. It could be she was hiding behind one of the thick durasteel girders; she was certainly small enough to hide there.

Dustil spotted a knot of blue and silver milling around near the exit, about four of them, counting the raven-haired sergeant he recognized from their first meeting. The sergeant gesticulated angrily; the other two spread out. Dustil activated his stealth field again and ducked behind a pile of cargo containers for good measure, as a Twi'lek and a Rodian went past him. The sergeant was left with another Twi'lek to guard the exit.

Revan made her move as soon as the two sentients had passed Dustil and turned the corner. She dropped straight down from beneath the walkway like a kinrath spider, the fine cord from her climbing harness barely visible in the light as she fell just behind the two men.

The Twi'lek dropped without a sound as he was double-tapped in the back of his head with one of Dustil's blasters set to stun. The sergeant turned around just in time to take a blaster bolt right in the face. Dustil winced in sympathy, despite the fact that the man deserved it.

Dustil ran over and helped Revan drag the sergeant around the corner into another alley, where the packing crate they'd bought earlier had been deposited.

Dustil grunted as he lifted the man, hooking his hands under the sergeant's armpits; the man was damned heavy, which shouldn't be surprising, since he was taller than Dustil and had a muscular build. The load lightened considerably when Revan used the Force to help him haul the dead weight up and into the crate. It was the kind used to transport expensive animals, so it was already foam-padded; the sergeant shouldn't be banged around too badly while inside.

Revan took a pair of cuffs from the sergeant's belt, and in a supremely ironic move Dustil approved of, clapped them on the sergeant's wrists, securing them _behind_ him. She checked the life-support controls again, then closed the lid on the sleeping sergeant, locking it firmly.

Revan gave him a thumbs-up and handed him his blaster back. "Okay, everything's set. Let's get this show on the road."

Dustil activated the repulsorlift on the crate and took hold of the handle. "I hope Lady Versenne likes her present."

* * *

Sorry for being late once again; this chapter ran a little longer than expected. I see no one caught the little clue I put in Chapter 45... As a small consolation, I've got a pic cookie up on my kotorfanfic guestbook, a sketch of Carth and Dustil in the sewers in Chapter 36. Still unfinished, haven't drawn Revan in yet.

Calais: You see what happens to her in this chapter, no? By the way, Revan didn't kill the giant firaxan shark in my universe...

Menolly Onasi: Yep, still updating. Gonna finish my fic if it kills me. And yeah, the fact that so many people don't finish their fics irks me no end. I trust Carth and Revan's fight was sufficiently spectacular enough for you? :)

gamorrean princess: Yeah? What's your excuse? :)

Nyvanna: What's not to like, indeed. :)

Firera: Thanks. And yes, Carth will be rather... upset once he realizes what's happened to them. And yes, he's still that mad. But he's rather justified in his anger, no? And no, Revan wasn't taking revenge on him for making him that ugly, but she might've felt a bit vindictive anyway.

VMorticia: Rant no more! Yeah, that was the contact. Your dad's driving only takes place on a road. Imagine Revan's driving _while they're hundreds of feet in the air_... My fic may go to triple digits whether I want it to, or not... I thought I'd be finished at 50, but here I am with Chapter 46! :x

Feza's twin: Nothing like knocking a few teeth out to calm down, eh? Answers to your questions next chapter.

thesnowman: As you can see from this chapter, I doubt Carth would find out once he's behind enemy lines... And thanks for the kind words.

MoonStarr: Thanks. And I'm not one to kiss and tell... Mwahahaha.

snackfiend101: Thanks for reviewing all those chapters! Responses here:  
Ch. 45: Heh, thanks.  
Ch. 38: Made that explanation on the fly when Feza caught it on IRC... Big _D'oh!_ on my part there.  
And yes, I'm evil. I'm sure the "Dark Side points gained" dialogue box popped up over my head when I did that... Heh.

ether-fanfic: Thanks, and here you go!

D. Eldsoldier: _Almost_ every chapter? Damn. :) Lots of people have done a male character or DS character post-KoTOR fic, you know. I think this'll be my first and last piece of fanfiction I'll ever do...

Sera Terranova: Thanks! And that was a clue, you know...

Prisoner 24601: Heh, thanks. Small homage to you in this chapter, by the way...

Rascarin: Here you go!

Lunatic Pandora1: Ugh, no. Carth's whole appeal is that he's a soldier, with absolutely no Force powers, and yet he's still brave enough to fight through everything despite that. And someone _has_ written a "Carth with Force powers" fic, but since my mother said to say nothing at all if I've got nothing good to say...


	47. Test

**Chapter 47: Test**

Carth turned up at the back entrance to House Boro, duffel in hand, and stared up for a few moments at the building. Then he took a deep breath and headed slowly for the guard station set up next to the doorway.

House Boro was located in the disreputable part of the Sluis Van capital. If 'disreputable' was the right word. Space was really too limited to leave any particular piece of real estate unused long enough for it to get disreputable. It was in a less desired part of the city, far from the tubes connecting the capital city habitat with the other habitats, and away from the shuttleports and docking bays that served the freighters and starships.

Just what a bunch of possible conspirators would be looking for, Carth thought.

It was very early in the morning, since Carth had decided to waste no time in taking up the Sayir recruiter's offer, so there was very little traffic around, of foot or vehicles. He'd caught a few hours of sleep at the dingy, mean little hotel he'd stayed in for his cover--since a hotel of the class Revan and Dustil were staying at was way beyond the means of the poor mercenary he was playing--then he'd come straight here.

The building House Boro made its home in was old, if Carth was estimating the architecture correctly, about the same age as the building House Khyrohn was in. But whereas the Heads of House Khyrohn had modernized their building as much as they could without demolishing it and building a new one, House Boro was dilapidated. The façade looked worn and hadn't been touched up or fixed in quite a long time, and that was a very long time indeed, considering that the enclosed habitat kept the ravages of weather away. Hell, it might even be one of the original buildings here, and the newer architecture may have been added on in a later era.

House Boro was one of those Houses whose fortunes had dwindled over the centuries, either through bad management, corrupt or incompetent Heads, bad political or business alliances or business decisions. Carth remembered that from the research both Bospho and Revan had gathered for him. Boro was a name that harkened back to nearly the beginning of the time the Sluissi had opened their habitats to offworlders and offworld companies, but it was a dying--if not dead--House now.

It looked like Sayir had effectively _bought_ the name of Boro, and was now using it as their front, so that anyone checking into the House's background would find a very clean and respectable record indeed. From what he could decipher from the data, one of House Sayir's many daughters from a very minor branch had married House Boro's decrepit and aging Head, and had inherited the House when the old man had died from--shockingly--natural causes, without naming an heir. The marriage had been childless, so the Boro line had ended with that old man's death.

Carth shook his head. The Boro forefathers had to be spinning in their graves.

Needless to say, this was all information no one outside of the Houses or various intelligence communities would know. Sluis Van natives would also know, but only through society gossip--not something a regular merc would check.

The typical mercenary would have no qualms taking a job from House Boro, not knowing that it wasn't, exactly, House Boro anymore. Not that the type of mercenary House Sayir seemed to be hiring would care, really. All they'd see would be the large amount of credits being offered. He'd have to see what caliber of fighter they'd hired so far to make anymore assessments.

Stepping forward towards the discreet guard station tucked underneath an overhanging statue, Carth handed the datapad the Sayir contact had given him to the guard standing in a shadowy nook. The shining bulk of a war droid towered over the guard as he went to check the datapad's authenticity and Carth's identity papers, its sights fixed on Carth. Its weapons weren't powered--at least, not at the moment--so Carth took no heed of it after a cursory glance; he'd been stared at with hostility by the likes of HK-47, so a mere war droid was not about to discomfort him.

"Step through the scanner," the guard ordered when he turned back to Carth from his console, one hand placed warily on his blaster pistol. His war droid partner watched Carth just as carefully.

Carth complied, stepping through the weapons scanner doorway. Lights flashed on the guard's console, which didn't surprise Carth, since he was wearing his blasters in his wrist holsters and the vibroblades at his hip and on his back.

"Okay, you're clean," the guard grunted. Carth took that to mean he had no tracking or recording devices on him, not that he had no weapons. "Step on through this door," a door swished open in front of Carth, "and someone will be along to collect you." He handed the datapad and Carth's identity disc back.

Carth nodded and walked into the lighted space beyond the door. He looked around and found himself in... an antechamber, was the only term that came to his mind. It was rather plain and spartan, with no furnishings, just the House Boro logo mounted on one of the whitewashed walls. No precious gems or metals decorated the sigil, like he'd seen in House Vosaryk and Khyrohn; this was just a bas relief done in burnished durasteel, although he supposed it had a sort of stark, utilitarian beauty to it.

Of course, _he_ was the guy who'd actually _liked_ the way the _Ebon Hawk_ had looked before it had gotten its new paint job and configuration, so perhaps his taste was questionable. The simplicity of the chamber was a stark contrast to the opulence he'd seen in Vosaryk and Khyrohn. He liked it a lot more than the richness of the other Houses.

The same green Twi'lek who'd given him the datapad appeared when a door hissed open seamlessly in one of the walls, hissing closed behind him and becoming a blank surface once more. This time he was dressed impeccably in what Carth assumed were the House Boro colors of dark green and silver, the same livery the guard outside wore. Carth braced to attention, duffel dangling from his right hand, fully aware of how grubby he looked next to the Twi'lek.

The Twi'lek nodded politely at him. "Ah, good morning. I _thought_ you might be joining us. My name is Juru Ojuun, and I will be taking you to see my superior as soon as we agree on the contract."

Carth nodded and handed Ojuun the datapad. Ojuun pressed the palm of his hand on the screen, then handed it out, display first, to Carth. Carth stretched out his left hand and pressed it to the screen, signifying his acceptance of the contract. He had no worries about his palm prints now being on file; he'd been furnished with a state-of-the-art flesh skin that had been programmed with the fingerprints for his new identity and overlaid over his hands.

Ojuun solemnly tucked the datapad under his left arm, and held out his hand with a faint ceremonial air to the gesture.

Carth took the Twi'lek's hand in a firm grip. "I'm Tav Tagar, sir," he said tersely.

"Welcome to House Boro, Tav Tagar," Ojuun said formally. "Please, follow me." He turned and walked to one of the whitewashed walls. A vertical crack appeared in the seamless surface, resolving into a door that opened into a small elevator.

Carth stepped in after the Twi'lek, and tried not to feel overdressed next to Ojuun. Ojuun didn't seem to have any overt weapons that Carth could see, besides a blaster pistol. Ojuun was sublimely unconcerned about that fact, so Carth was, naturally, suspicious of that blithe attitude.

The elevator itself was just as plain and white as the antechamber Carth had waited in, only there was just a little bit of color with unpainted durasteel paneling on the sides, and the floor was tiled with alternating gray and white ceramic chips. He wondered if this austerity was a Boro trait or just reflecting the House's poverty.

Carth ran a careful sweep of the elevator interior as the Twi'lek depressed a key on an unobtrusive panel. He wasn't sure, but he thought he felt a familiar tingle on his skin as he'd entered the elevator, reminiscent of the suppressor fields in the Taris dueling rings. He remembered feeling something similar when he'd had to accompany Revan to a duel with those Sith junior officers they'd stolen uniforms from.

His eyes also caught some very faint depressions in the walls of the elevator, that might or might not be weapon ports. He would bet all twenty-two years of his Fleet pay they were being monitored. Even if he killed Ojuun, he wouldn't be alive to step out of the elevator. Not that he planned to do any such thing; he hoped he wouldn't have to kill _anybody_ on this mission. He'd killed too many sentients to want to add to that.

So Carth just stood politely next to Ojuun, patiently waiting for the elevator to reach its destination, whatever it may be.

There was a quiet chime, then the doors hissed open. Carth looked out cautiously at a plain-looking corridor. The Boro sigil, done in durasteel, decorated the walls at intervals, but that seemed to be all the furnishings there were. No statuary, paintings, mosaics or tapestries relieved the stark whiteness. It was rather like being in a starship, only there weren't any bulkheads or viewscreens looking out into space. It smelled as sterile as a starship, too.

Ojuun led Carth down the hallway, passing by unmarked doors. It was quiet, except for the clicking of their bootheels on the uncarpeted floor. Carth couldn't hear the sounds of anyone else there, or behind those doors. They were either the only two sentients on the floor, or the rooms were soundproofed. There were no windows to show if they were in one of the upper levels or down below street level. That lack didn't bother Carth, but it might make his escape more difficult if they were underground. He didn't want a reprise of a trip to the sewers, mentally shuddering at even the thought of it.

After a few turnings down corridors that all looked exactly the same, Ojuun opened a pair of doors at the end of one hall, the only door Carth had seen that actually had a bit of decoration on it. The Boro sigil was etched onto its surface in bas relief, splitting into two equal halves when the doors opened for the Twi'lek.

Carth followed Ojuun into a long, large room that stretched into the distance. It was narrow, but he thought it might well stretch the entire length of the building. The walls here were again white, without even the Boro logo to break up the monotony, and the floor was bare permacrete. The only furnishings in the room were three chairs and a desk console, one of which was occupied. Another war droid stood guard inside the door, tracking Carth with its sensors.

A human man, older than he and Ojuun if Carth calculated correctly, rose from his chair. Fine lines radiated from the corners of the human's eyes and around his mouth, and white strands made two ribbons that ran from his temples through his black hair, cut in the military style. Carth was familiar with the air of command around him; perhaps he used to be in the military, though Carth didn't recognize him. But then the Republic military was huge, and Carth couldn't expect to have met all the commanding officers in either the Fleet or the Army. And the Republic wasn't the only government that kept a standing army and navy, just the biggest.

"Ah, this is one of the last, Ojuun?" the man asked neutrally, his eyes raking Carth up and down. His voice echoed hollowly in the huge room. The man's thin lips grew even thinner when he eyed the battered armor Carth wore, and didn't look impressed with what he saw.

Carth couldn't tell what the man thought of him. He braced automatically to attention.

"Yes, this is Tav Tagar, sir," Ojuun said, bowing slightly to the human.

The man rose from his chair and stepped around the desk. "I'm Burron Nekja, and I'm the one in charge of you recruits, so that means you'll be following my orders."

"Yes, sir," Carth said.

Nekja eyed Carth's stance and picked up a datapad he disconnected from a datalink built into his desk. "That's right, you're former military, aren't you?" he murmured, skimming the datapad rapidly. "A mercenary with the Republic in the Mandalorian Wars, and the recent Sith war, no? You may stand at ease."

Carth suppressed a grin, getting the feeling that Nekja had only just managed to bite off a 'son' at the end there. Definitely a military man used to command.

"Yes, sir," Carth replied again, and relaxed his pose, clasping his hands loosely behind his back.

Carth decided to keep his talking to a minimum; he would make far fewer slips and mistakes that way. Not that he'd ever been that talkative in the first place, at least, not when there wasn't a tenacious Jedi around. He suppressed another grin at the thought, which wasn't difficult when he remembered how he'd left things with that Jedi.

"You fought in the Battle of Jaga's Cluster?" Nekja asked. "Tell me what your experience was in that battle." He sat back down at his desk, waving a hand at the chair in front of it. Ojuun took up a position a pace behind Nekja.

Carth proceeded to give Nekja a tolerably truthful and precise account of the battle, only changing the fact that he wasn't a pilot for the Fleet, but a ground force lieutenant in the Republic Army.

Nekja nodded thoughtfully at parts of his account, and asked a few questions, mostly to clarify certain events, which made Carth wonder if Nekja had been at the same battle. Carth's story rang true because it mostly was; the Republic Army _did_ recruit mercenaries, Carth really had fought in that battle, and thanks to OFI, there really had been a Tav Tagar who'd fought there also, with the rank of lieutenant. Of course, the real Tav Tagar was also dead.

Nekja asked more probing questions with regards to other battles Carth had been in, which Carth answered promptly enough, though with briefer summaries. Nekja's neutral expression slowly faded until it was replaced by a look of grim satisfaction.

"And why did you leave the Republic Army?" Nekja finally asked. "You were promoted to the rank of major, and it looked like it would not be too much longer before you had yet another promotion. Why leave at that point in your career?" The question seemed to be posed out of idle curiosity, not one intended to catch Carth in a lie.

"The Sith war had ended, sir, and the pay wasn't all that great for what I was doing. I had nothing left to do, so I resigned to find a better-paying job," Carth answered. Not _exactly_ what had happened...

Nekja nodded judiciously. It looked like Carth's answer had resonated with Nekja; perhaps Nekja had left his own posting for the same reasons.

"Yes, I imagine a man like you wouldn't have liked being in a dead-end, paper-pushing desk job," Nekja said approvingly, and continued his questions.

Nekja looked impressed at the end of Carth's recitation, but didn't offer any details of his own involvement in that affair. He put the datapad back down.

Carth decided to chance a question. "Did you fight for the Republic in the Battle of Jaga's Cluster, too, sir?" he asked curiously, not sure if Nekja would answer. But he might have enough respect for Carth to answer, since it was a question posed by one military man and soldier to another.

"No," Nekja replied shortly, in a tone that didn't invite further questions.

Carth settled back in his chair. That was interesting, Carth thought, keeping his face impassive. If Nekja hadn't fought for the Republic, then he must've fought for the _Mandalorians_, but Nekja didn't look or act like a Mandalorian. And Carth could hardly ask Nekja if he had a Mandalorian clan tattoo. Although... Mandalorians took on mercenaries, too, if Carth recalled correctly; maybe Nekja had been with one of the Mandalorian units.

It was difficult for Carth to keep his temper; collaborators and traitors were high on his list of people who needed to be blasted in the head, and if Nekja was one...

Or it could be Nekja was being more literal, if strangely so; perhaps Nekja had worked for one of the mercenary companies that hired out as a unit, in which case Nekja wouldn't have been working for the Republic, then, he'd be working for his merc regiment.

But there were two types of mercenaries who'd worked for the Mandalorians during the wars: the scavengers who arrived just after a fight, like carrion crows, to loot the dead and pick up anything the Mandalorians hadn't snatched for their spoils, scum of the lowest order Mandalorians treated like dirt, or the 'best' mercs, who were practically adopted Mandalorians. Especially if they'd done something noteworthy, which, in Carth's view, seemed to be something either brutal, senseless or suicidal, or possibly all of the above.

Nekja didn't seem to fit in the first group, and Mandalorians never let their hirelings lead their warriors, which didn't explain Carth's gut feeling that Nekja used to be an officer who'd commanded troops. It was something Carth took mental note of. If there was something smelling of Selkath going on here, Nekja had to be right in the middle of it, and the more they knew about him, the more they might discover about what Sayir was up to.

"I see you're familiar with ship-to-ship boarding actions and close-quarters combat," Nekja said, looking down at the datapad on his desk. He leaned back in his seat and folded his hands in front of him as he looked consideringly at Carth.

Carth was entirely too familiar with ship-to-ship boarding actions, the two most memorable incidents in his mind being the boarding of the _Endar Spire_ by the Sith and the _Leviathan_. His Tav Tagar persona was supposed to have been on the other end of those actions, though. A star-pilot did not participate in those particular battles other than to maneuver a ship either into or out of the situation; boarding was left to the Republic Marines and Special Forces, and a star-pilot didn't get involved in the actual fighting unless things had really gone fruit shaped. Which it had, in both cases.

"Yes, sir," Carth replied, thinking extremely hard about the _Endar Spire_, in case Nekja had some kind of truth analyzer machine somewhere, reading the inflections in Carth's voice.

Those Khyrohn and Vosaryk agents had to have flunked out somehow, and Carth was not about to do the same, even if it meant doing something ridiculous. The things he'd seen in their journeys, searching for the Star Forge, had widened his mind to the possibilities, no matter how strange.

And Carth was, technically, speaking the truth. One didn't survive weapons practice with a Mandalorian who'd been fighting before Carth had been born and four skilled Jedi, not to mention a Wookiee, without becoming very skilled in close-quarters combat.

Nekja nodded approvingly. "Excellent, just the sort of expertise we need. All that remains now is the test," he said, a wintry smile stretching his thin lips.

Carth frowned, breaking his expression of bland studiousness. "Test? Nobody told me about no test." He turned and scowled up at Ojuun, who shrugged. Carth's surprise was genuine enough, since none of the other agents had ever gotten this far to report back.

"It's a simple enough thing. We merely wish to see your reaction times and combat readiness," Ojuun said placatingly. "After all, it's been a long time since the Battle of Jaga's Cluster."

Carth glowered at the Twi'lek, but rose from his chair to follow Ojuun when Nekja waved a hand at him.

Ojuun walked over to what Carth would've thought was a section of wall that looked the same as any other, and palmed a spot. The wall split apart to reveal racks of weapons of all sorts, from blasters to slugthrowers to vibroblades, running from the mundane to the exotic. Carth didn't even recognize or know the names for most of them.

"I see you have your own weapons, Tagar, but if you like, you may choose as many as you wish from our selection," Ojuun offered, waving a hand invitingly at the racks.

"I'll use my own, thanks," Carth said, declining the offer. His vibroblades and blasters weren't the best he usually used, but he was used to their balance and capabilities. He held up the duffel he still had in his right hand. Ojuun closed the wall, hiding the weapons once more, took the duffel from him and put it next to Nekja's desk.

Nekja pressed a button on a panel on his desk, and a holo bloomed on a projector built into the console. The lines of a layout of some sort glowed in the air. The holo showed a large square space that connected to another square space with a narrow corridor. The second square space was dotted with little cubicles. It looked rather like the schematic of a ship's docking bay, with passageways leading to various decks and sections.

"Your goal is to reach this point," Nekja said, pointing at a blinking green spot on the layout," in as little time as possible. There will, of course, be obstacles of one sort or another in your path, which you may neutralize in any way you like. Once you reach that point and hit the controls, the test will be over."

"None of the obstacles will employ lethal force, only very minor stun bolts," Ojuun added reassuringly. "Though they will, in all other ways, act the same as they would in reality. The computer will register each hit as one dealt at full force."

Ojuun handed Carth a satchel he'd taken from the weapons racks. Carth looked into it to see a bunch of grenades, at least three of each of the kind he was familiar with. He slung it over his shoulder.

"These are for you to use, or not, as you like," Ojuun said, waving a hand at the satchel. "They, too, have been modified to reduce their effectiveness, in case you hurt yourself with one. There are also suppressor fields activated, which will further reduce any damage you may sustain."

"We have excellent medical facilities here if you do somehow manage to to get yourself hurt," Nekja put in dryly. "Although I'm confident you won't." He smiled his grim little wintry smile.

Carth wasn't sure about this whole setup--assuming it wasn't a real setup in the other sense of the term--but he didn't see any way out of it. Much like the situation with the Star Map on Kashyyyk, where Revan had only gotten the prize after a long, tough battle with two battle droids.

"Alright. When do I start?" Carth asked, loosening his swords in their scabbards.

Ojuun walked over to the other side of the wall and hit a spot. Another split appeared, opening up into a door leading into an enclosed space.

Carth looked dubiously at the seeming dead-end when he stepped up to the door. What the hell was he supposed to do, stare at the three walls?

"The testing begins when the walls retract down, Tagar," Ojuun said in explanation, as Carth walked cautiously inside. "Good luck."

The door closed with a final hiss behind Carth, shutting out Ojuun, leaving a blank surface. Carth turned around and tensed, blasters out of his wrist holsters and in his hands.

The walls grew slowly transparent, giving Carth a cloudy view of his surroundings. Large shapes towered over him on either side; he guessed them to be ships or shuttles, since he was pretty sure this was a simulation of a starship's docking bay.

Carth crouched low when the walls suddenly recessed into the floor, and he took a few seconds to take a look around, taking stock of the situation. Alarms suddenly blared loudly and shrilly, making him jump, reminding him of the _Leviathan_ after their breakout from the detention cells. He suspected they were supposed to make him nervous and distract him. He tuned them out and looked around for cover.

He was between two large assault shuttles, the big shapes he'd seen through the walls earlier. It looked like he was in a typical ship's docking bay, with a view of open space through the force field that kept the bay pressurized. It was an excellent holo environment, Carth noted. On par with the Republic Academy's training sims, or possibly even better. He didn't know how, but they'd even managed to get the smell right: musty and slightly stuffy, mixed with the smell of fuel and machinery, that of a place that would never see sunshine or any fresh air. He took in a nostalgic breath.

Scurrying in a bent-over crouch, Carth ducked behind an empty umbilical cradle used to service ships. Then he loped to the exit he saw at the end of the cavernous room, dodging behind equipment, just in case there was anybody or anything that was supposed to be shooting at him.

The tramping sounds of metallic footsteps warned of an approaching troop of droids, making him glad of his caution. Then he was pinned down behind a service console by a volley of blaster bolts. Carth holstered his blasters and reached into the satchel, finding a couple of ion grenades by feel. He dove and tumbled to the stack of cargo containers to the console's right, and threw the grenades at the group of three battle droids he'd caught a glimpse of in his dive. He didn't stop, but rolled to another umbilical cradle, catching up his blasters as he heard the double explosions.

Carth risked a quick glance around the cradle to see one droid still functioning, more or less. Since the grenades had had their effectiveness minimized to reduce damage, the droids were still standing, not destroyed. The remaining droid was having trouble holding its blaster rifle steady. Carth dropped it with his blasters and hurried to the exit. It didn't look like there were anymore droids around, but he was still going to be careful.

They had probably scaled down resistance to fit the scenario to one lone man. Boarding actions required careful teamwork, and successful completion was based on the degree of cooperation between various teams of Marines, if Carth remembered correctly, from the time one of the Marine captains had allowed him to observe them in drill. One team took out communications, one was responsible for clearing away resistance, one to act as rearguard and hold their escape secure in case things went wrong, and a few others to actually penetrate security to get to the bridge. Carth was the only one here.

Eyeing the door controls warily, Carth placed a precise shot into the panel with his blaster. The controls sparked and spat viciously, but the doors stuttered open a little in response to Carth's vandalism. Carth peered through the crack to see a seemingly-empty corridor. He holstered his blaster and forced the doors open, ready to duck if someone took advantage of his vulnerability.

Carth wiggled through the gap just in time to nearly take a blaster bolt to the face. He flinched and dropped to hug the floor, then crabbed sideways rapidly into the dubious shelter of a bulkhead. He had had enough of a glimpse to know it was another squad of droids, six of them, advancing steadily down the corridor while they laid down suppression fire and pinned him down.

Looking around hurriedly for other exits, Carth took in his new surroundings. It was a typically unmemorable ship corridor, with lights illuminating everything harshly, and utilitarian lines marching in all directions. Gun-metal gray durasteel and white-painted surfaces reflected the light brightly. Damn, he was trapped in a cul-de-sac. Then Carth was reminded of what Revan had done once on the _Leviathan_, and smiled grimly as he unbuckled his short vibroblade and restrapped it across his back, so that it wouldn't bang against his leg.

Carth pointed a blaster at the ceiling and shot at the corners of a panel, and hoped the sim and props extended the realism this much. Carth caught the panel as it fell down and propped it next to the wall beside him. To his relief, he could dimly see wires, cables and conduits inside the exposed space, just like there would be in a regular maintenance duct on a real starship. He heaved his satchel up into the vent and jumped up to catch the edge of the hole he'd made with his hands. It was a lot harder for a guy wearing heavy armor to pull himself up than it was for one small Jedi who wore just robes, Carth found. He pulled himself up into the hole and braced himself on his elbows, then swung a leg up to get the rest of himself inside. He lay prone in the cramped space to catch his breath.

He patted his pouches and came up with a light-scan visor, sneezing as he raised unseen clouds of dust; with the visor on, he could see in the darkness as well as if it had been fully illuminated. The realism extended to the low-light conditions in the duct, since usually only the maintenance droids went there, and they didn't need as much light as most sentients.

Carefully, Carth crawled as fast as he could while also being quiet, pushing his grenade satchel ahead of him. As far as he could tell, he should be directly over the corridor the droids were moving down. He pulled out his short vibroblade from his back and used it to cut a panel open.

Looking down through the hole he'd made and gingerly sticking his head out, he saw he was just a little past and behind the droids. He grinned; this was going to be just like shooting rat roaches in a cargo bin. He resheathed his blade and took out his last ion grenade. He threw it at the droids, then took out his blasters. Bracing himself firmly with his legs as he lay prone on the duct panels, he emerged from the hole and blasted the droids in their backs. Already malfunctioning from the effects of the grenade, they sparked satisfactorily, and he managed to destroy them all before they even returned fire. The suppressor fields reduced his blasters' damage, so they weren't broken into pieces.

Carth levered himself back up into the duct and began crawling determinedly down it to the next section.

In that way he reached the end of the corridor, and moved into the section of the simulated bridge, bypassing all of the droids, turrets and mines that'd been laid down.

Through the mesh screens and filters that covered the air vents above the bridge, Carth saw the large war droids that protected the controls that ended the test. Carth reached into his still-full satchel and took out all three of the plasma grenades. He armed them all after programming them carefully with a three-second delay, then held one in each hand. Punching his fists through the screen, he opened his hands and dropped the grenades just as the droids swiveled their sensors to look up at the noise he'd made.

Carth ducked back and dropped the last plasma grenade down the vent, then covered his face with his arm reflexively when he heard the explosions, though they were more like small pops, not the booms he'd been expecting. He'd forgotten these were just practice grenades, since they had the same weight and feel as the real ones he'd used so often.

He peeked out over the vent, then craned his neck when nothing blasted at him. The droids were both twitching, simulating damage. He drew his blasters and shot them, just in case. Both droids slumped completely, more sparks pouring out from where they'd been hit by his blaster bolts. He looked around from his high vantage point.

It was a large room, lined with banks of consoles and vidscreens, an especially large screen stretching the length of the room at one end, strongly reminiscent of either a control room or a bridge. All of the seats were empty, and other than the two huge droids, there wasn't anyone or anything else in there. The console with the controls was slightly bigger and more elaborate, but that was about it.

Carth eeled out of the vent, landed heavily onto the floor and tumbled behind the bulk of a dead droid, but didn't see anymore hostile targets. Mindful of the time, he unbuckled his short vibroblade and tapped the tip of the scabbard on the controls cautiously, but it didn't look like it had been booby-trapped. It would've been extremely ironic and frustrating if he failed at this very last step.

A door opened in what Carth had thought was just a gun-metal gray wall behind the control console, letting in more mellow radiance than the harder light of the control room. Carth stepped out, settling his vibroblade back at his hip. By some strange twist of perception generated by the simulator, Carth found himself right back at the door from which he'd started.

Nekja stood in front of his desk, Ojuun a step behind him. Nekja's thin face actually cracked a smile, while Ojuun looked extremely smug. Carth wondered if the Twi'lek got some sort of bonus or finder's fee for each recruit he found.

"I must say I'm quite impressed, Tagar," Nekja said. "I don't believe anyone else has ever tried that particular trick." He nodded approvingly. "It shows initiative and intelligence, as well as a certain mindset we're looking for."

"You have completed the test with the fastest finish time we've seen, Tagar," Ojuun interjected. "Of course, bypassing all of our droids and traps shaved off a great deal of time."

Carth shrugged. "You never said I had to do things the hard way."

Nekja stepped forward and offered his hand. Carth took Nekja's hand without hesitation and shook it firmly. Nekja's hand was dry and warm, and he didn't use his grip to squeeze Carth's hand to try and prove anything.

"I am pleased to have you with us, Tagar. You have an excellent future with us at House Boro," Nekja said. Carth wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Nekja mutter under his breath, "... maybe this fiasco will actually work...."

"If that's all, sir?" Ojuun asked Nekja. Nekja nodded. Ojuun turned back to Carth. "Now that all the preliminaries are over with, let us go and get you settled into the quarters you'll be staying in for the duration of your contract."

Carth shrugged and took his duffel back from Ojuun. Nekja had already sat back down at his desk, ignoring them both now that the show was over. Carth followed Ojuun out of the simulation room back into the corridor.

To his relief, Carth had read in the contract that he would be provided with his own room here. A barracks-type arrangement would've been fine back in the Fleet, but a similar setup here, with not fellow soldiers but mercenaries, was a recipe for disaster. He didn't think he'd be able to get a wink of sleep if he had to be in the same room with not just strangers, but violent strangers with weapons. From the hints Nekja had dropped, the rest of the mercenaries they'd recruited seemed to be the dregs of the profession, an undisciplined rabble.

Ojuun led Carth back down the utilitarian hall to the elevator, where he punched in their destination in silence. Neither of them spoke, but Carth thought the Twi'lek didn't seem as tense as before. The elevator stopped after a few seconds, and Ojuun guided him down another corridor that was just as bland as the one they'd left, only this one had a lot more doors, and the doors were labeled discreetly. Carth kept count of the doors that had names on them, and came up with a disconcertingly large number.

_Damn, and this is probably not the only floor they've housed mercs on._ It was worrying. Just what were they planning to _do_ with all these mercs?

The Twi'lek stopped at the end of the very long hallway and palmed a door with a blank nameplate open, revealing a very small, spartan room. The only furnishings Carth could see was a narrow bed pallet, a small desk, a chair and a footlocker. Another door was inside, which Carth assumed led to a refresher.

Now _that_ was an unexpected luxury, a personal refresher he didn't have to share. Even on the biggest starships he'd had to share the facilities with other soldiers, until he had reached the rank of commander and had gotten his own cabin. He'd thought it would be the same here, and had resigned himself, in fact, to sharing communal showers--just like in prison, he thought dryly.

He'd thought it would be similar to a starship here, but perhaps they were leery of their hirelings making trouble, something that wasn't really an issue on a well-run starship with disciplined soldiers. A bunch of down-on-their-luck mercenaries--and Carth had no idea, really, of how many Sayir had hired--would be as disciplined and self-restrained as a mix of kath hounds and fell cats.

The extent to which House Sayir had developed the House Boro cover, and the astronomical amount of expenses they had to have incurred in order to renovate the compound to house a bunch of mercenaries worried Carth. It was especially telling, given how much importance the Houses placed on profit making, and this compound had to be sucking down the credits, not making them, as far as Carth could see. Unless, of course, this entire scheme was meant to be used to work towards one damned big payoff...

Well, that was what he was here to find out.

Ojuun stepped aside and pointed at the door panel. "Press your palm here and let the door record your prints, and it will open the lock for you." He waited until Carth had done that before handing him a datapad.

"Here is a map of our compound--at least, those parts of it permitted to you," Ojuun said. "Ah, and here." Ojuun handed Carth a credit-sized disc.

"What's this?" Carth asked, turning it over in his hands. It was the same green as Ojuun's uniform, and had the House Boro sigil on one side, an encoded surface on the other. It looked like a regular credit disc to him.

"It's your first day's pay," Ojuun explained. "You may use it to buy whatever you like here in House Boro, from guns to blades to," he eyed Carth's armor, "armor. The company store is marked on that map. Our other amenities are also listed on that pad."

Carth scrolled curiously through the contents, raising an eyebrow at the very long list. Included was anything from a cantina to a brothel to a massage parlor--he suppressed a smile, remembering what Revan had wheedled out of one of Davik Kang's slaves on Taris after a massage--to full access to the entire galaxy's holo entertainment programs. And all at very reasonable prices.

"That credit disc is actually good outside of House Boro, but you will probably want plain credits when you leave," Ojuun added. Carth nodded and pocketed the disc. Ojuun then handed him a wrist communicator. "Keep this on at all times. You will be contacted on it when Captain Nekja summons you a little later. It's also used in training and to muster several squads together."

Carth wrapped the communicator around his wrist obediently and strapped it closed. "Anything else?" he asked.

"Mealtimes are announced with chimes, and all meals are served in the mess hall. At the end of the day, unless Captain Nekja has scheduled special drills or training sessions, the time is yours to spend as you wish. Also, there are rules listed on that pad. Infractions are punished according to severity, usually a night in the brig and a deduction from your pay for damages and fines."

Carth nodded. That made sense; hitting the offending merc in the wallet was a greater deterrent than any physical punishment could be, since a merc put his life on the line for nothing but the credits. Still, he wondered just how effective it would be on rowdy mercs who've had too much to drink, especially if they were bored to death.

"If you have no questions, I will leave you to your own devices," Ojuun finished. "It is early enough for you to still be able to get breakfast from the mess hall. After that, Captain Nekja will no doubt contact you when he has figured out how to schedule you into our training sessions."

Carth, about to refuse the offer of breakfast, reconsidered. Taking a look at who and how many were in the mess hall would give him some idea of just how many mercs Sayir had hired, and what caliber of fighters they were.

"Alright, I'll do that," Carth said.

Ojuun nodded courteously to him and walked off, leaving Carth to explore his tiny room. The refresher, as he'd suspected, was just big enough for a cramped shower and toilet, and a mirror fought for wall space with a rack of towels. It was small, but he was used to that, since most starships he'd been stationed on had typically small cabins. He quickly stashed his meager belongings in the footlocker, and hung his blasters and swords on the weapons rack, remembering from his quick perusal of the pad that no weapons were allowed outside of the training areas and personal quarters.

Then Carth took out his Pazaak decks and slipped them into his back pocket. Bored mercs were just like bored soldiers in two respects: they both loved to pick on the new guy to see what he was made of, and they both loved to chat over a game of chance, especially if the new guy was losing, which was why he had two decks. One was for winning, with cards that were just as good as Revan's, and a basic deck for losing.

He checked the pad Ojuun had given him, noticing the sections he wasn't allowed to wander in were all the ones that had exits out of the compound.

Carth headed for the mess hall, looking for mercs with pay to burn and loose tongues to wag.

* * *

Sorry, guys, for being late yet again. Argh. Anyway, here you go. As a small consolation, I have another pic cookie up at my kotorfanfic guestbook.

Nyvanna: Poor Dustil. Hm, at least three people have sympathized with the poor lad with that same phrase... I must be doing a good job of making him out to be pitied... Heh.

snackfiend101: Thanks. And all will be revealed in due time...

ether-fanfic: Thanks. You're the second person to say 'Poor Dustil'...

Menolly Onasi: Thanks, but I can't kiss and tell, mwahaha. No, Dustil's not gonna be attracted to Revan like that, more like he was incredibly embarrassed. Nope, no Oedipal stuff in _my_ fic...

Firera: Thanks. Revenge would be if Revan had disguised him as a Twi'lek dancing girl with a huge set of knockers. :D Or disguising herself as a man and making out with him in public. Just the sort of thing that would generate maximum embarrassment for our pilot. :D

Lunatic Pandora1: No, she won't do something so infantile... Him using a lightsaber? I could see him using it like a flashlight or a match...

thesnowman: Aw, thanks. And that thing with Dustil and Revan was just a physical thing, more like Dustil realizing Revan's one hot chick for the first time.

Prisoner 24601: Thanks. And you're the third person to say 'Poor Dustil'... Yep, definitely confusing for our Sithboy... Which is only what he deserves for hijacking my fic...

rimwalker: Aw, thanks. It's really hard for me to get into Dustil's head, but it seems to be getting slightly easier with practice.

Feza's twin: Hey, thanks. Lots of people missed that clue, or else they haven't reviewed to tell me that they saw it.

Trunxluvr82190: Congratulations for being the 300th reviewer! And thanks.

VMorticia: Lightsabers? That's for Revan to know and you to find out. :D Sullustans are in the Completely Unofficial Star Wars Encyclopedia, along with scads of other races. He's not really claustrophobic, not in the screaming-if-locked-in-a-closet sense. You have to have ridden in a crowded subway at rush hour to appreciate what he went through. (Which I have.) And all will be explained... soon. Mwahaha.

D. Eldsoldier: Have you read Kosiah's "Memory" here on fanfiction? It's excellent. Not that the rest of the cast are 'alive', per se... And thanks. Cliches exist because they work. :)

Krazed Kaioshin Fangirl: Wow, haven't seen you around in a very long time. As for the fight, I was actually going to cave and resolve it in the same chapter, but wiser heads than mine (you can thank Prisoner 24601, athenaprime and Sera Terranova) convinced me to let them hang. And Revan's close to perfect? Damn, then I'm doing something wrong. :p Is she too Mary Sueish?


	48. Blindsided

**Chapter 48: Blindsided**

Dustil and Revan pushed through the crowds in the Transients Dome, heading for another House Vosaryk shuttle platform, pushing the packing crate ahead of them on its repulsorlift pallet. Dustil kept expecting one or more of the false policemen to pop up and open the crate, shouting "Ah-ha!" and nabbing them for resisting arrest, assaulting a police officer, _kidnapping_ a police officer--probably for immoral purposes--but it didn't happen, fortunately for his vibrating nerves.

"How're we going to get onto a shuttle, anyway?" Dustil asked Revan as they approached a familiar-looking landing pad and station. "They might not be tracking us now, but the minute you take that token out and get us seats, they'll know where we are." Sentients grumbled as they squeezed out of the way of the crate.

Revan sighed and nodded. "I know. Which is why we're not going to be using our token." She eeled through the crowds, stepping entirely too close to Dustil for his comfort to allow some Mon Calamari to pass. She didn't seem to notice his discomfort, and he didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

Dustil raised his eyebrows at her. "Yeah? How're you planning to get on, then? Hijack the shuttle?"

Revan made a hasty shushing motion at him, looking around hurriedly to see if anyone had overheard him. No one had, since the low roar of the crowds had covered his low-voiced suggestion. "Perish the thought, Dustil! Do you know what the Sluissi do to people who hijack starcraft? No, not that way."

"How then?" Dustil persisted, wondering just what the Sluissi _did_ do to ship hijackers to warrant that queasy look on Revan's face.

They had reached the landing pad by now, and since it was after the lunch hour, but before the after work rush, the platform was nearly empty, and the food stands had only a few patrons. They hadn't, of course, gone to the same shuttle launchpad where they'd first been captured, and they had taken pains to change their appearances on the way here. They didn't have Revan's makeup kit, nor had they had time to change or dye their hair, but they had changed their clothes and bought hats to at least obscure their faces. The visors they both carried served to hide their faces. Dustil thought them rather flimsy disguises, but they were better than nothing.

"You'll see," Revan said. She led him and their packing crate up a short curving ramp that connected the platform to the street, to one of the benches provided for footsore patrons and sat down, beckoning him to take a seat next to her.

Dustil rolled his eyes behind his red Verpine visor, annoyed at the mystery and melodrama she positively reveled in, wondering if it was a habit she'd picked up from Jolee, or if all Jedi developed the ability in order to deliberately annoy people. Or maybe it was just Revan being Revan.

Tugging the packing crate around so that it floated quietly on the ground in front of them, Dustil sat down next to Revan. The life support controls provided a sedative that could be released as a gas into the interior, mainly to calm panicking animals and keep them from harming themselves, or tranquilize unruly ones so that they could be taken out safely. He wasn't worried about the sergeant waking up from his blaster stun and suddenly banging up a storm to attract attention to them.

"Now what?" Dustil asked impatiently, when they'd sat in silence for several moments. Revan's eyes flew open at his question; she'd had them nearly shut behind her Verpine ocular enhancer visor, so that Dustil thought she was dozing.

"What? Oh, we're waiting." She yawned widely and idly unwrapped her braid from around her neck, letting it rest on her shoulder.

Dustil sighed at Revan's deliberate obtuseness, and wondered if his father had ever felt like throttling her for answers. "Waiting for what?" he prompted irritably. He tensed suddenly when he saw a policeman approach, then relaxed again when the Rodian passed them by without a glance. His Force senses remained quiescent, so he relaxed further, and settled back against the bench.

"For someone to come along and reserve a seat on the shuttle," Revan replied, her half-lidded eyes following the Rodian before drifting nearly closed again when the Rodian's blue and silver uniform merged with the crowds. She stretched out her legs and crossed them at the ankles, clasping her hands on her stomach.

"Ah," Dustil said uncertainly. That answer wasn't exactly enlightening. He wondered if his father found Revan to be as frustrating as he did as he folded his arms across his chest, glowering at the packing crate.

He watched her fumble in her pockets until she came up with those horrible mints she liked so much, popping one into her mouth when she found it. He couldn't hide the slight smirk that quirked his lips when she shook the nearly-empty package with a woebegone expression on her face.

"That's the fifth one you've eaten in the last fifteen minutes," Dustil observed, listening to her suck noisily on a mint. He had to admit he'd never expected the former Dark Lord to have a sweet tooth, and such a _big_ sweet tooth at that.

"Your point?" Revan asked with a sniff, raising an eyebrow. A cloud of mint reached Dustil's nose as she spoke.

"Don't have one. Just wondering if you used to have a cigarra habit," Dustil said, shrugging.

"No. I have a less disgusting habit. I think. I don't smoke... at least, I don't remember smoking," Revan said, frowning slightly, her eyes unfocused. "I'm pretty sure it would've changed my voice if I had--or maybe I just didn't smoke that much. And I can't imagine the Dark Lord bunking off for a smoke, do you?"

Dustil ground his heel on the familiar anger that rose up. He was too old to be throwing tantrums in public, he told himself fiercely. "No, I can't," he conceded, trying to keep his tone light.

Revan glanced sharply at him. "I can't change the past, Dustil," she said quietly, speaking down at her hands. "Otherwise I'd wish myself out of existence."

Dustil's hands clenched hard on the crate's tether. He exhaled in a long, noisy sigh. "I know," he said reluctantly, and forcibly relaxed his hands. "I keep telling myself that, if you hadn't existed, the Mandalorians would've come and razed Telos eventually. The Republic was losing until you and, and Malak came along, and my father would've died somewhere out there, sooner or later."

"But telling yourself to be so logical doesn't really help, does it? Not when your heart says something else," Revan said in a small voice, hunching her shoulders slightly.

Dustil glanced at her, noting the fine pain lines that now appeared around her eyes and mouth, and wondered how old she was. "No," he agreed.

Now it was Revan's turn to sigh. "I wish I had a typical Jolee-type piece of wisdom or amusing anecdote to tell you, but I can't come up with any. I... did what I thought was right, then. It went wrong... somehow." She dug her fingers into her hair and tugged, as if she could pull out the relevant memories by main force. "I'm sorry, Dustil. I know how pathetic and inadequate it sounds, even hypocritical. If I thought I could bring back your mother with my death, I'd slit my throat right now, quite happily." She slumped in her seat and closed her eyes.

Dustil was taken aback by the force of her conviction, and the completely earnest tone of her voice. Confused, he looked down at the tether he still gripped in his hands, and could think of nothing to say.

"Some days I just feel like it's not ever going to be worth getting out of bed, you know?" Revan said, after a few moments had passed.

Dustil watched as sentients passed back and forth below the platform, emerging from the crowd and merging again with it, spots of color moving in a chaotic pattern. He turned to Revan and raised his eyebrows at her.

"What, are you telling me _you_ get into funks, too?" he asked in disbelief. He had trouble imagining this same woman, who'd looked so damned cheerful earlier when they'd turned the tables on the fake policemen, being depressed.

Revan quirked a small rueful smile at him. "Even Jedi can get depressed, you know. Overwhelmed and made to feel insignificant. We just don't show it. Or perhaps I'm just a special case."

Dustil snorted at _that_ particular understatement. Revan's smile turned wry. "Maybe a normal Jedi is really laughing on the inside under that stoic exterior," she added.

Remembering his glimpses of the stern Master Vrook, Dustil shook his head. "They're hiding it really well if they are."

Silence fell for a few moments between them, but it was more contemplative than oppressive. The roar of hundreds of voices in the street, the honks and beeps of traffic and the hums of the platform machinery filled his ears. Beside him, Revan rolled her candy between her cheeks, and it clicked softly against her teeth.

"What would you have me do, Dustil?" Revan asked softly.

"I don't know," Dustil replied after a moment. "I... just don't know."

And he didn't. He really didn't know what he wanted of her. He'd thought it would be simple, but it looked like there would be consequences to her death at his hands that he really would not want to face. And, shockingly, he wasn't sure, anymore, if that was what he wanted. He frowned, a little aghast at himself when he found that little doubt in his heart. He wanted her dead, didn't he?

Didn't he...?

Revan blew out her breath, filling the air for a moment with the sharp scent of mint. "I am bound by certain... promises I made to your father, and they supercede everything else. When I despair, in my truly dark hours, I am tempted to break them. But he won't let me, so I... don't."

Dustil couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he kept silent. They sat in an uncomfortable silence, a bubble of quiet that seemed to muffle the noise of the crowds and the humming of passing speeders.

Revan looked up at a Duros who was approaching the registration kiosk. Dustil looked, too, but didn't see anything to get excited over. He followed at a distance when Revan leapt up and approached the Duros, who wore typical spacer clothes, with patches on his jacket that showed he was the captain of a freighter.

The Duros stopped at her approach, watching Revan cautiously. He put one hand warily on a blaster pistol he had holstered at his hip as he took in the twin vibroblades at her waist, though Dustil wasn't sure he'd seen her slugthrower. The Duros' other hand was poised to insert a Vosaryk token into the panel.

"Excuse me, sir," Revan said cajolingly, putting on her most charming smile. "I was wondering if you could help me with something."

Relaxing fractionally when she didn't make any hostile moves, the Duros took his hand off his blaster. The Duros glanced around the platform, where security droids painted in the Vosaryk colors were stationed at discreet niches, and took obvious comfort in the protection they provided.

"What is it?" the Duros asked politely in accented Basic.

"I was wondering if you could register two more seats for me on the next shuttle," Revan said, and showed the Duros her own token, quickly opening and closing the case she had put it in. "You see, my token seems to be malfunctioning, and I can't be delayed while I try and reach a Vosaryk bureaucrat with enough clout to do something about it. I have a shipment of Corellian figs that absolutely, positively must go in two days, or I'll be bringing nothing but rot and worms to my client."

The Duros winced; evidently he was familiar with the extremely perishable cargo and the very short preservation time it had.

"So, I was hoping I could prevail upon you to reach the shipyard, where I could see to my ship and cargo, and get my token repaired at the same time," Revan finished.

Dustil was nearly knocked over by the waves of earnest concern and innocence she was projecting, and had to turn around so that the Duros couldn't see his face. He wasn't certain he could keep it straight.

"Well..." the Duros said uncertainly, wavering. "I... don't see any harm in it, and I suppose I should help out a fellow spacer..."

Revan gave the Duros her most winning smile. The Duros should've been blinded, Dustil thought, and hid a smirk.

"Two seats, you say?" the Duros asked, coming to a decision.

Revan gave the Duros another blinding smile, and nodded. The Duros punched in a request for three seats, and it was granted.

"Thank you so much, sir," Revan said gratefully. She pressed several credit chits into the Duros' hand. "A little something for you, to show how grateful I am."

The Duros' already large red eyes widened even more at the amount in his hands. "Not a problem, spacer. You're welcome," the Duros said, much more pleasant now that his palms had been greased with more tangible gratitude.

Revan smiled and withdrew back a space from the Duros. Dustil followed, looking at his chrono as he tugged the crate along.

"The shuttle should be here in another few minutes," Dustil muttered to Revan. "Er, how are we going to explain our little present here," he pointed to the crate, "to the pilot? Not to mention the guards up there. They're gonna want to search it."

"We'll worry about it when we get to that bridge," Revan muttered back. "If necessary, I'll use a bit of... persuasion. I hope it doesn't come to that, though."

"Why didn't you use it on him?" Dustil asked, jerking his head slightly towards the Duros, who had gone to take a seat on one of the benches.

"You know it's a power I don't dare use lightly, Dustil," Revan said, shaking her head. "I'll only use it as a last resort, and I won't use it if there are any other options that can be explored. I've had my head tinkered with too much to ever be comfortable with the idea of diddling someone else's head."

Dustil shrugged; he supposed she had a point. He'd hate it if anyone else tried to mess with his mind, but any reply he might've made was interrupted by the arrival of the shuttle.

Sleek and streamlined, the shuttle was painted in the Vosaryk colors, and the House sigil was emblazoned proudly on its side, looking as bright and new as the day it had left the shipyard. The wings retracted demurely and settled down on the landing pad with a gentle thump that made the platform reverberate under his boots. The landing of the shuttle created a strong breeze that blew against his clothes and made the fabric flap before it stilled. Carth, Dustil thought, would have admired that pinpoint landing. The ramp extended out like a salute and the door irised open invitingly, then the boarding light on top of the registration pillar glowed green.

The Duros captain got up from his seat and walked towards the ramp, nodding to Dustil and Revan as he passed them. He disappeared into the shuttle after a few passengers leaving the shipyard disembarked. Revan and Dustil waited until they had all passed them by and merged with the crowds in the street before heading up the ramp themselves. Dustil walked up first, tugging the crate after him, while Revan took up the rear to steer it straight if necessary.

The shuttle pilot, a small Sullustan in the familiar Vosaryk livery, stood at the entrance to the cockpit, and a small cleaning droid made its rounds along the seats, picking up debris the other passengers had left and cleaning under and over the upholstery. The harsh smell of the droid's cleaning solvents dissipated quickly, and was soon covered by the flowery scent of the air freshener.

The pilot frowned at the crate Dustil pulled after him, the wide container only just managing to clear the door.

"Excuse me, esteemed clients," the pilot said apologetically but firmly, stepping forward to block Dustil's way, "I'm afraid I cannot allow you to bring cargo aboard the shuttle. The shipyard, in any case, does not allow cargo of any sort to be transported aboard. You must wait until your ship is released from the dock, then you may take on your supplies directly from a spaceport of your choice. The next shuttle may then take you up, when you come back."

Dustil's hand crept automatically to his blaster, but fell back to his side when Revan stepped up around the crate next to him.

"This is no ordinary cargo, I assure you," Revan said, once she stood in front of the pilot, both of them nearly of the same height. The Duros, Dustil noticed, was sitting in a seat near the middle, watching the scene with great interest.

The pilot frowned more deeply, his bright black eyes narrowing and his ears lowering to lie flat along his skull. "I'm sorry, lady, but there can be no exceptions. You will have to turn this around and--"

Dustil felt the Force being woven around the pilot's head, generated like the gossamer-thin, fluttering strands of a spiderweb from Revan's mind. Subtle and barely discernible to his senses, they circled around the Sullustan and tightened. The pilot blinked his large black eyes behind his goggles, his face growing slack, and his ears sagged.

This wasn't Force persuasion, but some sort of mind fogging power similar to it, stronger and more specific. The Sullustan tried to resist, the clash of wills between Revan and the pilot almost visible to Dustil's eyes. The web of the Force around the Sullustan belled and billowed as if blown by a wind, to snap taut and close once more around the pilot's mind.

Dustil maneuvered himself casually so that he blocked the spectacle from the Duros' sight; there was no sense in attracting attention they could easily avoid. The Sullustan didn't really have a chance, though; to Dustil, the Sullustan's formerly bright, quick mind now looked like a slowly-moving pillar, while Revan's tendrils of Force compulsion were like multiple layers of delicate lace, being wrapped around and around the pilot's mind until it was weighed down and completely obscured. The pilot's eyes were now dull, ears drooping down, and his face was slack, looking as if he were drugged.

Revan looked tired when Dustil glanced at her, and a slight film of sweat covered her face.

"This is special cargo we need to bring to the shipyard, sir," Revan said, her voice low and persuasive. "It's expected."

"It's special cargo you need to bring to the shipyard, it's expected," the Sullustan repeated in a blurry voice.

"That's right, and it would be best if you turn around and fly us up there. Right now," Revan commanded quietly.

The Sullustan blinked rapidly, as if he had just woken up, round ears rising, and frowned in confusion at them. "Er, esteemed clients, please take your seats," he said slowly. He took off his goggles and rubbed vigorously at his eyes before putting them back on. "We... we will be taking off momentarily." He frowned, ears rotating all around, in the manner of someone trying hard to remember something, then shrugged. He paid no attention to the crate that sat right next to Dustil when he walked towards the cockpit.

Revan motioned Dustil to a seat. Dustil maneuvered the crate into the space between the front seat and the wall closing off the cockpit.

Revan wiped her brow and rubbed at her face. "I didn't want to do that, but it's imperative we get this guy to Lady Versenne, and someplace we can interrogate him in peace," she muttered to Dustil. "He's a small piece of this puzzle, I'd bet both my sabers on it."

"Do you really think he's part of whatever group or faction attacked Lady Versenne?" Dustil asked her in a low voice. He sighed inwardly. He'd at least known whom his enemies were in the Sith Academy; enemies who didn't come after him with lightsabers blazing took some getting used to. They hadn't hid behind their faceless minions, either. "What I want to know is how they knew about us."

The vibration of the quiescent engines that had been humming under his boots like a purring cat now roared to a higher pitch as the pilot prepared the shuttle for takeoff. No one else had boarded after them, so the shuttle was nearly empty, but Revan took out her white noise generator and turned it on. The sounds of the engines grew muffled as the watery shimmer appeared in the air, dampening their voices.

"It does suggest somehow that either Vosaryk's security has been compromised, or..." Revan's voice trailed off as she frowned. She pulled her visor back up to rest on top of her head.

"Or there's a spy somewhere in House Vosaryk," Dustil finished, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

Revan nodded agreement. "This is just getting messier and messier, is it not?" she muttered.

Dustil sighed. "Yeah."

The shuttle began lifting on its repulsorlift cushion, and Dustil watched the view of the wing extending through the window on the opposite side of where he sat. The buildings went past in a blur as the shuttle flew higher, towards a tubeway that opened out into space.

"Are you sure you still want to be involved?" Revan asked him quietly. "There's no shame to it if you do."

_And miss a chance to see Lady Versenne? I don't think so._ Shaking his head, Dustil replied, "You're not getting rid of me that easy."

To his surprise, Revan's lips curled up at one corner in a lopsided smirk. "Funny, your father once said those same exact words to me." Approval glimmered in her eyes.

Dustil rubbed the back of his neck, unsure as to how to interpret that. On the one hand, it was gratifying to know she approved of his courage--foolish though it might be--and on the other, he had to consider just whom was giving the praise. And he also wondered if he was supposed to take pride in the fact that he was just as stubborn as his father. But surely it wasn't an insult, either?

_Man, life sure has gotten complicated..._

He watched as the shuttle left the tubeway behind, moved into a special ship airlock and entered space. The sunlight shone on the wing, clear and crisp in the vacuum, and Dustil could see the orbitals and space stations, both civilian and military, in the distance, winking and glittering like multifaceted jewels. Moving specks of light were ships flying in a slow dance, being shunted by Sluis Van Flight Control into queues and holding patterns. The view was enthralling and spectacular, and he never tired of it, no matter how many times he watched.

A convoy of huge cargo ships, each bigger than the largest capital ships, flew ponderously past to the unloading docks on a space station, the Vosaryk logo a blazing spot of color on their gun-metal gray sides. The massive size of the ships meant they could not dock on the planet, since the gravity would make them collapse in on themselves, and there were no docks big enough to service them downside, anyway. One of the ships flashed its running lights in a salute at the tiny shuttle, and the shuttle moved slightly as the pilot gave a wing waggle back in acknowledgement.

Dustil leaned back and looked out the window on his side of the shuttle with his head pressed against it, watching as they approached the steadily-growing bulk of Vosaryk Shipyards.

"Are you going to try the same trick you did on the pilot with the guards?" Dustil asked when he turned back to Revan, who was staring out the opposite window.

Revan's eyes refocused on Dustil, which told him she hadn't really been seeing the spectacular view. "Hm? Oh. No, I don't think so. I think we'll just have to wait and see when we get there. I don't think we can avoid a search."

Dustil raised a skeptical eyebrow at this extremely flimsy plan. "Uh, is that _it_? We wing it? That's the plan?" Revan nodded. He paused, taken aback. "It's a stupid plan," he pronounced, with all the solemnity of a magistrate passing a sentence.

Revan snickered. "I never said it wasn't stupid." She sobered. "It's a sticky problem we have. Our patron wants to keep our association as secret as possible, so I can't just tell the guards to take us to Lady Versenne. I'm hoping the dilemma we pose to the guards with our cargo will attract her attention enough to take a personal hand in our interrogation--"

"Interrogation?" Dustil interrupted, eyes widening. He couldn't help breaking out into a sweat at the idea; memories of all the unpleasant things he'd had to do as a Sith on Korriban came rushing back into his mind. Only this time, he was going to be on the other side of the torture chamber. He hadn't thought that would be a consequence...

Revan raised an eyebrow at him. "There's no need to panic just yet, Dustil. I doubt we'll be tortured."

"Oh," Dustil said, relieved and a bit embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I thought... uh, nevermind."

Revan's lips twitched in a brief, rueful smile. "I know, but not everyone interrogates like the Sith, fortunately. I'd rather not endure any such, ah, _vigorous_ questioning again."

"Again?" Dustil blurted, surprised. "You've been tor--uh, interrogated by the Sith before?"

"Once." Revan grimaced, eyes darkening in remembrance of old pain and memories, lines appearing again on her face. "Actually, twice that I can remember. Neither time was pleasant." She shook off the memories. "In any case, I doubt House Vosaryk will interrogate us in a like manner. They'll probably just separate us and ask us questions. Perhaps use some sort of lie detection, but I doubt they'll use anything more strenuous. You can't really blame them, given what we're bringing. I just hope Lady Versenne notices and comes in person, so that we can compare notes all the sooner, instead of languishing in the brig."

"It's still a stupid plan," Dustil muttered, unnerved by the thought of being interrogated, even if it didn't have the cruelty and vigor the Sith brought to the practice.

"You got a better one?" Revan asked archly. She waved a hand at him to present it.

Dustil glowered at her, but knew she'd caught him out. He crossed his arms over his chest and admitted disgruntledly, "No, I don't have a better idea."

Revan glanced out the window. "No time to come up with another one, anyway. We're almost there."

Startled, Dustil looked out the wide viewscreen to see that the shipyard had grown so close it obscured nearly the entire view. Speeders flew to and fro like busy insects all around, and the huge shapes of starships made a colorful profusion of angles and curves against the gun-metal gray color of their docking slips.

The view was slowly hidden as they flew towards the docking bay, and brightly-lit gray walls blurred past. A slight judder of the shuttle vibrated under Dustil's boots, signaling that they had docked. The chime sounded for passengers to disembark when the green light blinked on above the door. The metallic scents of the docking bay poured into the shuttle, along with the sounds of the landing pad machinery.

Revan turned off the white noise generator and motioned for him to walk ahead of her. The Duros captain was already through the doors by the time Revan and Dustil maneuvered the crate down the ramp. The Vosaryk guard on duty frowned at this, but said nothing, and stepped forward to take the token Revan handed out to him.

Dustil nervously tapped his fingers on the crate tether as he waited for the guard to pull up their records. It seemed, for some reason, to take longer than usual. Perhaps it was just his agitation. Revan whistled softly as she waited, the sound of it echoing around the bay hollowly. Her casual pose was spoiled a bit when she took out her battered package of mints, shook one out and popped it into her mouth, much like a smoker might fumble for a cigarra to ease their nervousness.

The guard's face was carefully blank, Dustil realized suddenly. He was just about to mention this to Revan when he saw her eyes dart to the doors and her body tense. The guard stepped back from the console, his blaster pistol suddenly in his hand and pointed at them. The doors opened to show five Vosaryk guards in half armor and armed with blaster rifles. They moved forward to surround Dustil and Revan, rifles aimed warily at them. Dustil's hands froze on his blasters.

"Hey, what's with all the firepower?" Revan demanded, moving her hands from her vibroblades and tucking her thumbs into her belt. "I'm a bloody client of yours!"

"Please place your hands where we can see them, ma'am," one of the guards said. Dustil assumed he was the squad leader, since his helmet was just a tad more elaborate than the ones the others wore.

Revan reluctantly raised her hands from her belt and held them to her head, Dustil following suit when one of the guards jerked his blaster rifle pointedly at him.

Dustil glanced at Revan, who looked totally surprised and unprepared for this reception. Had the pilot sent a message of some sort on ahead of their arrival? But he could have sworn the pilot had been completely taken in by Revan's Force persuasion. Unless these guards were from the same group who'd captured them earlier? The questions spun around and around in his head.

"What the hell's the meaning of this?" Revan asked the apparent leader. She glared at one of the guards, who had taken out a weapons scanner and was aiming it at her. "I thought Vosaryk Shipyards was a _reputable_ business and provided excellent service, so why the hell are you pointing your bloody blasters at us?" she snapped.

Dustil found himself agreeing with her sentiment and words--a rare occurrence.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the squad leader said, not sounding very sorry at all, "but you are to be brought to the brig and held there until further notice." The guards relieved Revan of her visor, vibroblades, slugthrower and even her climbing harness, an item which prompted a few raised eyebrows.

"You still haven't told me what the hell for," Revan growled. The scathing look she gave the squad leader should have burned the man to a crisp.

"You're to be held on suspicion of murder," the squad leader answered crisply. Another guard took away Dustil's blasters, his Verpine visor and a long knife he'd had slung at his waist.

For the first time ever, Dustil had the satisfaction of seeing a look of complete and utter surprise on Revan's face at that announcement, even through his own shock. His brow furrowed. What the hell was this, copycat charges? Did they lack the imagination to think up something more plausible?

One of the guards had investigated the packing crate while Revan and the squad leader had been talking. "Uh, sir..." he said in an uncertain voice, waving the squad leader to him when he opened the crate and peered in. "You better come and take a look at this."

"What? What is it? A dead body?" the leader asked, stepping towards the crate. "What the--" he began, then broke off with a muffled curse. He turned to scowl at Revan, whose formerly put-upon 'wealthy client beleaguered by incompetent servants' face was now wreathed with an innocent smile. Since Dustil didn't feel her use the Force, the innocent look only made the leader's scowl deepen.

"_What_ is a Sluis Van police officer doing in your packing crate? And do I want to know? And just how the hell did you manage to convince the pilot to allow you to bring it up here in the first place?" the leader asked plaintively.

"He's not really a police officer," Revan answered. "But don't take my word for it--check the records and try to find him, or check him for identification. I bet you won't come up with anything at all, and you certainly won't find any credentials."

The squad leader raised an eyebrow, frowning suspiciously. "You could've stolen his credentials and flushed them down the nearest disposer, but I take your point," he admitted reluctantly. He frowned down into the crate. "I don't have the authority to deal with this," he muttered darkly. He strode over to the guard station console and began a vid call. Unfortunately, he'd had the presence of mind to activate the security cone, so that Dustil couldn't hear what the man was saying, and the air shimmer concealed the movements of the man's mouth. He hoped the squad leader was passing the credit up to his superior, and from there to Lady Versenne.

"Sir, do we wake him up and get him out of the crate?" asked the guard who'd opened the crate when the leader had finished making his call.

The leader walked over to the crate to glare down at the troublesome contents for a moment, then shook his head. "No, he doesn't look uncomfortable or hurt, and we don't know how he'd react to being revived here. Might be dangerous. We'll let the higher-ups take the headache and decide what to do. Bring it with us." He motioned to the guard to take the crate's tether.

"This is another fine mess you've gotten me into," he muttered at Revan as the guards clapped a pair of restraints on his wrists, holding his hands _behind_ his back, alas. Revan had already been dealt with in the same manner.

Revan gave him an extremely dry look before she was led away in front of him. He was prodded to follow her in single file.

He and Revan were again surrounded by large sentients with rifles, with the squad leader in front, two on either side of them and one behind. The remaining guard towed the packing crate behind them. They were led out of the docking bay their shuttle had landed in and into a non-descript corridor. The corridor was nearly empty, and the sounds of their boots echoed hollowly down it as they tramped down to another docking bay two doors down, towards a waiting personnel shuttle. It was smaller and more cramped than the one that had brought them up to the shipyard, armed with a turbolaser turret, and the Vosaryk logo, along with 'Vosaryk Shipyards Security', were painted along its side.

A guard waiting alertly next to the extended ramp saluted the squad leader when they approached to speaking distance.

"Secure the prisoners," the squad leader said to one of the other guards, when they had all tramped up the ramp into the cramped confines of a narrow corridor inside the shuttle.

This involved taking him and Revan to a tiny brig with cells the size of broom closets. They took their communicators, chronos, datapads and even made them take off their boots, but at least they gave them slippers to cover their stockinged feet. It was somehow more embarrassing to be barefoot. He fumed quietly, wondering what they could possibly conceal in their boots to warrant confiscating them. Perhaps it was some sort of humiliation tactic; if it was, they'd succeeded, although Revan didn't look as uncomfortable as he felt, as he watched her wiggle the toes of her slippered feet on the cold floor. He squared his shoulders; dammit, if Revan could take this with her composure intact, so could he.

The guards held their rifles on Dustil while a third cautiously removed the cuffs from his wrists, then prodded him into the cell. Not about to anger their captors into getting rough with him, Dustil stepped into the cell of his own reluctant volition. The blue shimmer of a force field obscured Dustil's view once he was inside--not that there was anything of worth to look at. Revan had already been put into an adjacent cell while they'd been removing his restraints, so he could no longer see her from his vantage point.

The faint vibration of the engines under his feet ratcheted up smoothly to a dull roar, then Dustil felt the ship begin to move. He settled back on the small, thin seat--the only furnishing in the cell--and tried to compose his soul in patience.

He let his head fall back on the cold durasteel wall behind him with a dull thump and crossed his arms over his chest. This hadn't exactly gone to plan. He snorted at that understatement of the century, not caring what the monitors would show to the guards. And there were monitors, he'd bet all his savings on it.

Frowning, Dustil wondered what could have happened in the short time since they'd talked to Lady Versenne in the _Ebon Hawk_ that there would be an order to have them detained. He shoved down the strange panic that welled up in his heart at the thought that Lady Versenne might've been hurt.

There was no doubt about it now; their meddling had caught someone's negative attention, and things were heating up. He scratched his chin. Maybe his father had been right to be so cautious and suspicious. Oddly, he found himself missing his father's steady presence. There was a great deal of comfort in knowing Carth was there, quietly watching their backs.

He shook his head sharply. He was too old to be relying so heavily on his father anymore, and Carth's dependability was an illusion, anyway, he thought bitterly. He could rely on no one but himself--he'd found that out the hard way on Korriban.

The hum of the engines underfoot was winding down, he realized suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. The dull clank of the shuttle settling down into a docking cradle reverberated under his slippered feet. A moment later, the guards showed up outside the force field of his cell. He rose warily when the blue shimmer faded, and stepped out when one of the guards beckoned to him.

Dustil allowed himself to be cuffed again, even though he wanted nothing more than to use the Force to incapacitate them and get the hell out, but didn't because he could see Revan meekly submitting to the treatment, too. Revan shrugged when he caught her eye, giving him a _We'll go along with them for now_ look. Dustil heaved a huge sigh and followed the guards out, again being hemmed in by one on either side of him. He was really getting tired of the whole prisoner routine.

They stepped down the ramp into a docking bay that was practically identical to the one they'd just left. Only the Galactic Basic letters for 'Security Station 2' painted over the doorway differentiated it from any other.

The squad leader led them through the wide blast doors and past several other doorways before turning into a larger version of the brig they'd stayed in the shuttle. Dustil sighed. At least the cells here were a lot bigger, and there were pallets and refreshers in them. Another guard rose from his console at their entrance to sign them in and take their belongings.

Dustil's cuffs were taken off again under the alert gazes of two guards, then he was prodded into one of the cells. The guards were taking no chances with them; they had their blaster rifles out and shouldered, but ready to be aimed at a moment's notice, relaxing only when the force field was turned on. This time Dustil could see Revan; three large cells lined the three sides of the walls, and he was in one that faced hers. Only one exit allowed sentients to enter or leave, and the guard's desk kept all the cells in view. The entire squad trooped out, leaving them alone with a lone guard on duty.

Sitting down on the thin pallet, Dustil watched Revan, waiting to see if she would tell him something. Revan, apparently, was telling him to take a nap, because she yawned, threw herself down onto her own pallet and closed her eyes. He didn't know what to make of it, except feel mighty exasperated. He leaned his elbows on his knees and propped his chin on his hands.

And waited. He hated waiting at the best of times, but it was the uncertainty that was driving him crazy. Just what the hell had happened, dammit? He hated being out of the loop. He glanced across at Revan through the energy shimmer, to see that she hadn't moved. He fidgeted and paced, counting the amount of steps it took him to reach from one side of the cell to the other. Exactly ten paces, he found. Glancing every so often at the time display didn't make the minutes pass by any faster.

According to the time display on the wall, it had been a couple of hours since they'd been brought in. His never-particularly-large store of patience ran out, and desperate for something to do, even if it was talking to Revan, he carefully shaped the Force and used it poke her.

Revan had to have felt him using his powers, because she wasn't startled by his Force prodding. To his amazement, she really had been sleeping--_sleeping_, at a time like this!--when he touched her mind. She turned her head to scowl at him, blinking sleepily, her brows drawn down in an irritable frown.

_What? Dammit, I was having a rather rare pleasant dream when you interrupted..._ she said into his mind. She sat up and stretched, yawning.

Dustil gave her his most dry and exasperated look, then rolled his eyes in the direction of the guard station.

Rubbing her eyes with a hand, Revan shrugged. _Look, they've probably told their immediate superior, who's no doubt right now deciding whether or not to bother _his_ superior, and so on. We're stuck in bureaucratic red tape, in other words. Give them some time for the message to reach Lady Versenne. On the up side, those fake policemen won't be able to get us while we're in here._

The dubious expression Dustil fixed on his face showed his opinion of that overly-optimistic conclusion. His father, he thought, would have had choice words to say about it, too.

She waved a hand, concealing the gesture by brushing her bangs. _Yes, yes, I know, it's a bizarre coincidence that those 'policemen' charge us with murder, and then the guards _here_ charge us with the same thing!_ She shook her head slightly and pulled her legs up to sit cross-legged. _And there's no such thing as a coincidence when it comes to this situation. I'll admit I never saw it coming. Still, this serves our purposes just as well._

Dustil glowered at her, forced to admit she had a point. He heaved a huge sigh and wondered if it was worth antagonizing the guards into telling him what was going on, but his attention was diverted by the door opening. Revan looked up, too, watching with interest.

The guard on duty leapt to his feet and saluted, his body held rigid in a pose of attention. The newcomer was another Vosaryk retainer, a tall, thin human with a great deal of gray in his light brown hair, with the insignia of a captain on his sleeve and collar. The captain peered in at Dustil and Revan before turning back to the guard. The guard relaxed when the captain motioned him to stand at ease.

"Are these the prisoners? The ones that warrant was out for?" the captain asked.

"Yes, sir," the guard answered, handing him a data case. "Here are their identification discs--their identities check out. Their possessions and weapons are in here," he added, pointing to a box next to his desk. "There's another man they brought in a packing crate that we have in another room. He still hasn't woken up yet, and we haven't been able to find him in the database."

The captain nodded solemnly. "Forget you ever saw these two, or the man in the box," the captain ordered. "You never saw them and you never spoke to them. And you never saw me, either, and I never gave you these orders."

The guard stared wide-eyed at the captain, his jaw hanging open in shock and surprise at the captain, who frowned. The guard sweated for a moment, before visibly coming to a decision. "Uh... yes, sir. I never saw you, and I never saw them."

The captain beamed, showing very white, even teeth. "I can see you'll go far in the ranks here, son."

The guard cleared his throat nervously. "Er, but I don't have a high enough clearance to, uh, release them into your custody. And I certainly don't have enough authority to erase the logs, sir," the guard said anxiously.

"Don't worry about it. I'll take full responsibility." The captain took a disc out of his tunic and inserted it into the console, tapped a few keys, then took the disc back out. The guard goggled at the screen, making Dustil wonder just what the captain had done. The captain carefully put the disc back into an inner pocket of his tunic, then waved at someone or something out of Dustil's view in the corridor. Five guards in Vosaryk livery, but with the additional insignia of the Vosaryk family's personal retainers, came in at his command. Dustil was not surprised to see that they bore blaster rifles.

Finally, Dustil thought impatiently, they were getting somewhere. He couldn't detect any hostility from the captain, though he did feel something like a certain distrustfulness, wariness and resigned exasperation. He couldn't discern anything more subtle, though, but he was certain they weren't taking them out to be shot out the nearest airlock.

The force field went down, and cuffs were brought out again and attached to his wrists under the watchful eyes and blaster muzzles of the new guards. Dustil suppressed a resigned sigh as his hands were once more restrained behind his back. He wasn't sure why, but the captain watched on with a strange sour look on his face. Maybe he thought this duty was beneath him.

Dustil was bracketed by two guards while Revan followed behind him, also with two guards sandwiching her. The last guard brought up the rear, towing the packing crate Dustil assumed still housed the sergeant. The box holding their belongings was placed on top of the crate, which Dustil took to be a hopeful sign.

The captain led them out of the brig, past the still-dazed guard and into the corridor. From what Dustil could recall of their trip, they were going to another docking bay, not the one connected to Security Station 2. He was proved right when they were brought to another docking bay housing a personnel shuttle, this one with no markings other than the Vosaryk logo on its side. It was considerably heavier armed than the security station's shuttle.

Instead of being taken to the shuttle's brig, as Dustil expected, the captain turned around once they were inside the shuttle and had a guard remove their cuffs, surprising Dustil, and from the look on her face, Revan.

Dustil rubbed his wrists as he stared warily at the captain, whose face remained impassive. The captain led them into a small wardroom and dismissed the guards, leaving two to stand outside in the cramped corridor.

The wardroom inside was small and plain, with only a narrow desk inside, a table and four chairs. The captain waved a hand at the box a guard had brought in. Dustil saw his boots and the other things the guards had taken from them inside, but not their weapons.

The captain moved to sit behind the desk and waved them to the other chairs. "I have my orders to treat you both as..."--his mouth twisted--"guests. But for my own peace of mind, I'll keep your weapons for now."

Revan raised an eyebrow as she sat down in one of the chairs to tug on her boots. "Not that I'm ungrateful, Captain, but who are you, and why are we here? And why had we been detained?"

Dustil sat down in another chair and pulled on his own boots. He didn't like not having his blasters, but he supposed they were twitchy enough. The captain had a great deal of faith in them, and in whomever had given him his orders, to meet with them alone.

The captain nodded. "I will answer what I can, lady. I am Captain Sanger Morin, and I am bringing you to see Lady Versenne." He forced a smile.

Dustil heaved a silent sigh of relief; his Force senses told him the captain was speaking the truth. Finally, they would have answers, and maybe they would be able to get off the defensive and take the offensive. He could feel the hum of the ship's engines rise to a whine under his boots, and the reverberations of the docking cradle releasing the shuttle.

"As to why you had been detained, well, you have been named as suspects in our investigation. Only by Lady Versenne's grace have you not been held in a more high-security and much more uncomfortable brig," Captain Morin continued.

"Investigation? Who named us as suspects?" Revan prompted, putting her climbing harness, chrono and communicator back on. "Investigation of what? The patrol guard said we were to be held on suspicion of murder." Her ocular enhancer had been returned to her, and she perched them jauntily on top of her head.

Captain Morin's face hardened into a grim mask. "Indeed."

"Well, who're we supposed to have murdered?" Dustil asked, unable to bear the suspense and losing what patience he had left.

Captain Morin's lips thinned and his face turned even harder. "You are suspected in the murder of Bospho, Lady Versenne's chief bodyguard."

* * *

Damn, late again. I think I'll be updating every Saturday from now on, instead of every Friday. Next chapter: fun with mercenaries.

If you haven't noticed already, I've deleted the appendix. I'll put it back up when I finish this fic... sometime in the next millenium. :p

Nyvanna: Oh, the test was just the _easy_ part...

thesnowman: Heh, thanks. I think. If you don't like Carth, why're you reading my fic? :)

Alice the Raven: Thanks, and keep reading!

Prisoner 24601: Heh, 'fraternizing' is probably not the word Carth would use... Stay tuned.

snackfiend101: Yep, Revan does get into trouble a lot, but Carth's not immune...

Lunatic Pandora1: Yeah, but lightsabers aren't vibroblades. Carth would probably cut his foot off if he tried to use it as anything other than a cutting utensil.

Kabex: Thanks for the kind words, and glad you enjoyed. And no, I'm not telling you where she hid her lightsabers, bwahaha.

Firera: Hehee, thanks.

ether-fanfic: Yep, though Carth will probably not think it's fun... Heh.

Trunxluvr82190: Thanks, glad you enjoyed. That fight was harder to write than I'd thought.

Kosiah: Thanks for your very kind words. The Houses I got more from the Italian houses in Venice than anything else.


	49. Undercover

**Chapter 49: Undercover**

Carth followed the directions on his datapad through the white corridors of House Boro to the mess hall. He was sure he wouldn't have been able to find his way around without his pad, because the hallways weren't labeled and looked nearly identical. It looked like each floor had its own mess hall, which made sense, since it would have taken up a great deal of space to be able to serve _all_ the mercs Sayir had hired, all at once. He'd have to find out if he was allowed to wander the other floors.

Grumbling under his breath irritably as he walked, he scratched at his chin and cheeks. The damned makeup on his face covered his growing stubble, and it was really irritating him. _Really_ irritating him. He sighed grumpily. He just had to get through today, and tomorrow it hopefully wouldn't be so damned itchy.

His boots rang hollowly on the floor, sounding lonely in that empty space, making him wonder just where the hell everyone else was. Maybe they were all in those training sessions Nekja and Ojuun had made reference to, or still at breakfast.

Feeling naked without his weapons, he stepped into the elevator and punched the controls. He'd kept his armor on, since he wasn't about to walk around without its protection, nor had he been willing to leave the very expensive armor in his room. Hopefully it would pass notice, since he wore his jacket over it.

Carth stepped out of the elevator when the chime sounded musically, and he looked around the new floor. Even without the datapad he would've suspected the room beyond served food of some sort, since he had been able to smell the odors of cooking meals as soon as he stepped out. Two large war droids stood guard outside a set of wide double doors down the short corridor. There was no other place to go but through them or down the wide ramps to another floor, which meant the room likely took up the entire length of the building. The thought made Carth twitch uneasily. He stepped forward, the droids paying him no attention, and the doors hissed open.

The cacophony of sound from within was overwhelming for a moment, then dropped to near silence when the sentients inside took notice of him. Carth ignored the stares and speculative looks as much as he could, trying not to twitch under their gazes. The spot between his shoulderblades itched almost as badly as his face.

Carth moved along the wall to where he could see the serving area, a counter from which droids could be seen and platters of food set out for them to serve at request. The buzzing of conversation resumed, quieter and more intense than the previous roaring, with a questioning inflection to the voices. He watched out of the corners of his eyes as he took a tray from a waiting stack near the doors and moved nonchalantly to the counter.

_Shit, there's a lot of them_, he thought uneasily, absently pointing to items and holding out his tray to be served by the droids. He carefully didn't present his back to the room as he filled an empty mug with caffa and walked casually towards a nearly empty table. He didn't miss the speculative and curious looks the other mercs at the surrounding tables tossed his way. He took no obvious heed of them, sitting down quietly to eat, again with his back to the wall so that he could see the rest of the room.

The chemical analyzer hidden discreetly in his chrono detected no suspicious substances in his breakfast, so he started to eat. It was standard fare, nothing to write home about; it was neither horribly inedible nor five-star restaurant quality, about the same as what would've been served on a Fleet ship. He took the opportunity to catch a closer look around as he brought his mug of caffa up to hide his face.

The room itself was as plain as the rest of the place he'd seen. The ceiling was high, painted the same ubiquitous white as everything else, and hung with rows of bright lights, which reflected off the white walls to illuminate the throngs below almost harshly. Carth was pretty sure there were surveillance devices up there. There were no decorations on the walls other than the Boro sigil done in mosaic, worked with ceramic tiles at evenly-spaced intervals. Long benches filled with mercs marched into the distance.

Well, so much for his surroundings; now he examined the sentients filling the room more carefully as he took up his bread roll and started chewing on it. There were a lot of them, more than he'd thought when he first came in. He bumped up his estimates. They certainly looked like a diverse bunch; he could see some Biths, Rodians, Twi'leks, Echani, Trandoshans and even more species that he didn't even recognize. They sat in groups by races, so that Twi'leks took up several tables, while Trandoshans had a spot by the wall, and so on. Those who were the only representatives of their species sat with the other minorities, or by themselves. Humans seemed to be the most numerous race.

To his surprise, there were even a few women, although they hadn't clustered together; they looked more like some of the other mercenaries' companions, although ones who could fight well enough to pass Nekja's tests, in addition to being camp followers. He felt a twinge of envy for those mercenaries who had partners, but Revan wouldn't have looked convincing enough; the women here were built like sturdy freighters, and Revan would've looked tiny and fragile compared to them.

From that more careful glimpse, Carth drew a few conclusions. There were a lot of them, at least four or five hundred after a more careful count, all of whom had passed Nekja's tests, so they couldn't be _too_ bad at fighting. However, Nekja apparently hadn't seen fit to integrate them all by mixing them up evenly, instead letting them drift into groups of the same race. Which might also mean that they hadn't been together all that long; at least, not long enough to cross species' boundaries and start fraternizing with other races.

There were no such cliques in the Republic Fleet or Army, who started integrating sentients of all species immediately in training, because they would be fighting by each other's side, and they couldn't afford to play favorites in battle. Soldiers had to learn to trust and depend on their fellows, regardless of race or gender. Carth wasn't seeing that here.

And all that might mean that they didn't fight as well as a group yet, which was a slightly more cheering thought. He knew that no group of undisciplined fighters could defeat any group of _disciplined_ soldiers, no matter how many more there were. Although, numbers _did_ count for something, Carth thought more soberly, his thoughts growing grimmer.

He still hadn't figured out yet what Sayir needed all these mercs for. _Kersai_? But from Revan's research, _kersai_ was a more... subtle thing, more pinpoint and precise. A stiletto knife in the dark rather than a bludgeon to the face. This small army was about as subtle as a firaxan shark feeding frenzy.

It couldn't be for Ojuun's stated intentions of protection of Boro/Sayir's secrets, unless they were planning on breaking this group up and sending them to other outposts. In any case, if they were having training sessions, and the tests involved ship boarding actions, then it couldn't be just protection. Perhaps they were having trouble with pirates in the Outer Rim? But then why house them _here_, then, and not on a ship? And why all the secrecy? Not to mention all the sleight-of-hand with Sayir using the Boro name to hire mercs. Something was definitely smelling fishy.

Carth was so deep in his thoughts he hadn't noticed a new group of sentients had approached until they had sat down on the benches near him, at the same table. He mentally admonished himself for letting his attention wander so much that he hadn't even noticed them arriving. He paid no overt attention to them, concentrating on eating while he watched them out of the corners of his eyes. Looked like trouble had just come knocking on his... table, since there were plenty of other empty seats around. They had to have sat near him for the express purpose of checking him out.

The new arrivals were two Gamorreans, a Trandoshan, two humans and an Esoomian. Carth had ever only seen Esoomians in holos, they were so rare. It didn't look to Carth that they were part of a group, except maybe for the humans and the Gamorreans. He didn't see any weapons on them, which didn't exactly make him feel better about being outnumbered.

"Hey, I hear someone's broke the test record, eh," one of the humans said conversationally to the air. He was a swarthy redhead, broad and bulky, with scars on his knuckles and on most of his face, the largest of which ran from his right eye down to his jaw, like a tear track. His armor was new but slightly scuffed.

Carth groaned silently. It looked like the scuttlebutt here was every bit as active as that on a starship. Maybe even more active, being that these were idle and bored mercs. He wondered how they'd found out; did Nekja post the results to encourage competitiveness? He suppressed another groan; doing that was like waving a red flag under a mad bantha's nose.

"Who dat?" one of the Gamorreans asked--squealed--in thickly-accented Basic. This one was rather fearsome-looking, his porcine face crisscrossed with scars, and one tusk had been broken off recently so that it ended in a uneven, jagged point. He was huge as all Gamorreans were, seeming fat and slow, but underneath the fat were muscles and a deceptive speed. The only thing slow about Gamorreans were their brains.

Carth hid a grimace as he watched something sticky and black ooze and trickle down the Gamorrean's chin, after he'd spooned something disgusting from his bowl of what Carth could only describe as 'gook'. The Gamorrean also wore new armor, although his was painted crudely with clan markings and what Carth guessed to be warpaint.

The Esoomian only watched Carth silently with his enigmatic, bright black, almond-shaped eyes, waving the thick tentacles on either side of his mouth in motions Carth couldn't interpret, then swiveled his small pointy head to the Trandoshan when he spoke.

"Some human," the Trandoshan said, giving 'human' the same inflection as 'scum', and viciously speared a piece of what looked like raw meat on his knife from his plate. Sharp needle-like teeth delicately tore at the morsel. "Cut the record time in half."

Forcefully spearing another hunk of raw meat from his plate, the Trandoshan looked Carth up and down mockingly and growled, "Where did you come from, human? Fresh off the freighter?"

Unconsciously looking down, Carth saw that his jacket had picked up the dust and grit from his crawl through the testing sim. He'd been so busy thinking about how he'd finesse information out of the mercs that he'd paid no attention to his appearance. He felt his cheeks heat as he flushed in embarrassment, and hoped the makeup hid it from the others. The other mercs, with the exception of the Esoomian, laughed coarsely at his discomfiture. Carth felt his temper flare, though he didn't show it outwardly except for gripping his fork a little harder and clenching his jaw tightly.

"Make us look bad!" snarled the other Gamorrean, this one fatter and heavier than the broken-tusked one.

_Uh-oh_, Carth thought with a sinking heart. He began to casually look around for exits, or at least a place to make a stand if they decided to start something. He would have the wall at his back, but he was hemmed in by the others at the table. His left hand dropped unconsciously to his hip to grasp at an imaginary sword hilt. _Damn_. He'd forgotten he was unarmed. Still, he had the metal tray, his utensils and he hadn't finished eating everything, so he could use the leftovers to distract them long enough to find a more defensible position.

The mercs sitting at the other tables seemed to scent the increasing tension in the air, and the noise of conversation slowly died down a bit as more and more sentients turned their heads to the developing scene. A ripple of silence spread outwards, with Carth's table at the epicenter.

"You don't need an upstart human to make _you_ look bad, Grorm," said the other human in an incongruous tenor voice. This one was dark complexioned, with black, tightly-curled hair shaved close to his skull. Tattoos the color of dried blood were drawn in his scalp, though he had no facial disfigurements. He sneered at the Gamorrean, revealing teeth filed to points.

While Grorm, the fat Gamorrean, was obviously trying to decide if that was an insult or a compliment, his heavy brow wrinkled in apparently unaccustomed thought, the redheaded man spoke.

"Still, Sorka," the redhead said to his human partner, "the pig-man has a point. Breaking the record by such a big margin makes us all look like incompetent, bumbling fools, eh?"

Carth nursed his cup of caffa, his hopes for finding a few allies dashed to pieces. It didn't look like he was going to get out of this potential fight without first getting _into_ a fight. Then he remembered that he was in disguise. He was supposed to be Tav Tagar, a retired Republic Marine major with a bad history of brawls and fights that'd kept him from receiving anymore promotions, a real bastard who would've been drummed out of the service long before if it hadn't been for his military combat record. A real piece of work, in other words, but then sometimes a soldier _had_ to be a complete bastard to survive fighting in the front lines in the Mandalorian Wars.

Tav Tagar would never back down from a fight, and he certainly wouldn't go out of his way to avoid one.

_I think I may pass out soon from sheer testosterone poisoning, soldier_, Revan's teasing voice jeered cheerfully in the back of his head. Carth couldn't help the grin that stretched his lips. It was a mistake, because the others saw it and mistook it for a sneer.

"What're _you_ smirking at, human?" the Trandoshan snarled, bits of meat flying from his thick lips. The sight was not exactly conducive for Carth's digestion.

"None of your business what I'm smirking at, is it?" Carth replied affably.

_Let's see, if I take down the Trandoshan first, since he's the nearest, I could try and get a lock on him and throw him at one or more of the others..._ The calculations of the positions of the other mercs flashed through his mind as his eyes darted from the cover of his mug, estimating the weaknesses and strengths of his possible opponents. His mug was still fairly full, and still hot, so he could use it as a decent enough distraction...

The Esoomian suddenly made a horrible chittering sound, making the other mercs look at him warily. It took Carth a moment to realize the three-meter-tall hulking sentient was laughing. He wasn't sure if that boded well or ill for him, since he couldn't interpret the movements of the waving tentacles at the Esoomian's mouth, and it wasn't likely he would be able to understand the Esoomian's language.

"Grorm tink he laughing at us," said Grorm, first baring his tusks at the Esoomian, then, when he realized the Esoomian might be more trouble than it was worth to offend, he showed his yellow teeth at Carth. "Grorm tink we teach human a lesson!"

Carth tensed when he saw that the other Gamorrean was in agreement with his partner. The Trandoshan looked like he was going to join in, but the two humans looked to be sitting things out--at least, for the moment. They probably wanted the Gamorreans to soften him up first. The thought made his lip curl with contempt.

That, apparently, was enough to decide the Gamorreans. They shoved back and stepped away from their seats, the Trandoshan following suit. Carth swung his legs over his bench more casually, so that the table was at his back, and sipped his mug of caffa as if he didn't have a care in the world. He held his tray nonchalantly in his other hand. The silence was broken as mercs vied to catch a look, and betting started on just who would win, who would make the first move and so on.

_Great, I'm reduced to being sideshow entertainment for a bunch of mercs. Oh, the ignonimy, as HK-47 would say._

Just as Carth was poised to throw his caffa into Grorm's face and throw his tray of food at the other Gamorrean to distract him and make things slippery, a chime sounded, startling him and his erstwhile opponents.

The watching mercs groaned and grumbled, and started getting up from their seats, the tramping of their footsteps on the floor vibrating under Carth's boots. The Gamorreans and the Trandoshan in front of him hesitated.

"Dat ending bell," Grorm said uncertainly to his partner.

"Norko tink we late again, no credits," the broken-tusked Gamorrean said. Carth translated that as to mean they would be fined for being late. Norko bared his tusks and wide yellow teeth at Carth, who merely raised an eyebrow. "Dis not over, Bird Man."

"I'll be waiting, piggies," Carth said amiably, while inwardly groaning. It looked like his tattoo had already earned him a nickname.

Norko had to grab Grorm's arm to keep him from lunging at Carth.

"Run along, little piggies," Carth drawled, immediately regretting his words, although it was a very, very small regret. He wasn't that sorry.

_Why did I just say that?_ Why was he deliberately provoking these stupid but very large mercs? Glumly, he thought the anonymity of his disguise was making him think more recklessly. He wondered if Revan had ever felt like this in the wars, behind the safety of her mask. There was a kind of freedom in letting his darker emotions and impulses loose, knowing it wouldn't impinge on respectable Carth Onasi, but rationalizing that it was being in character for his new persona. He had to watch out for it.

Carth leaned on the table as he watched the other mercs file slowly out of the mess hall. The two humans sitting at his table nodded at him with sardonic smiles, though Carth was not fooled into thinking they were friends, or even allies. They were just more wary and cautious, and not above waiting and watching to see how he would fare against the Gamorreans. He recognized the type; they were bullies, but slightly smarter and lazy ones.

He sighed and sipped his mug of caffa. He hadn't been here five minutes before he'd gotten into trouble. And he hadn't had the chance to make any contacts with the other mercs. Maybe he would have better luck at the end of the day, when the mercs were released from their duties.

He was alone in the mess hall by the time his communicator chirped at him. Carth depressed the receive button. "Tav Tagar," he said. This was probably the expected summons from Captain Nekja.

"Tav Tagar?" came Nekja's tinny voice from the communicator. "This is Captain Nekja. Come see me in my office, which is marked on your map. Nekja, out."

Carth got up and threw his tray's contents into the disposer next to the door, setting his tray on top of a stack waiting to be cleaned. Cautiously, he stepped out, but there weren't any mercs waiting to ambush him, though he supposed that was what the war droids were here for, to prevent brawls. He strode to the elevator and punched in the destination after consulting his datapad. He guessed the mercs had gone down the ramps, since the elevator was much too small to accommodate more than five people, which meant the training levels were somewhere below.

As he waited for the elevator to get to the right floor, Carth wondered if the summons to see Nekja was about his own training sessions. It would be a problem if he were in the same section as those Gamorreans, though. The chime sounded, interrupting his thoughts.

Looking around the hallway Carth found himself in, he decided it wasn't too early for him to start searching for possible escape routes. Alas, no conveniently sized ventilation grates showed themselves; these vents would be too small even for Mission or Revan. This was a different floor from the one Ojuun had first led him to Nekja, the doors set at more frequent intervals; they were probably offices for the rest of the sentient staff.

Double-checking his location on his map, Carth reached out to press the door panel. The door slid aside and he stepped into a small, neat office. The only furnishings were Nekja's desk console, his chair and another empty chair that sat in front of his desk.

Nekja's office contained a state-of-the-art communications system, the same as what Carth had seen in Lord Khyrohn's apartments, only made smaller and more compact for one user. There were no windows, but large viewscreens gave a view of Sluis Van from space, a wide panorama showing the space stations, orbital defense platforms and starships coming to and leaving the various docks and spaceports. Silver rivers were the tubeways that connected habitat to habitat, a wide web of traffic that made a delicate lacework on the planet, extending up to the few habitats that held orbit in space. Carth's eye fell on Transients Dome, the largest of the orbital habitats, and spared a thought to wonder how Revan and Dustil were getting on.

_Man, I miss them_, Carth thought with a sudden pang of longing.

The rest of Nekja's office was taken up with schematics of docking bays and interior drawings of places Carth didn't recognize, though they seemed to him to resemble space stations of some sort, with a station's spare and undecorated design that was more functional than beautiful.

This was a place solely for someone to work in, and there were no personal touches to it that Carth could see, no decorations, not even a painting. Even Admiral Dodonna's office had had a few personal items that marked it as her own and gave the place some personality. There were no clues in here that hinted at Nekja's origins, his hobbies or habits. It was singularly frustrating.

Nekja looked up from his console to see Carth standing in a rigid pose of attention, and waved a hand wordlessly to the chair in front of his desk. Carth sat where he was directed.

"I've spent some time reviewing our training groups, and I believe I've found just the place for you," Nekja said. Carth contrived to look attentive.

"I'm going to put you in the group practicing shipboarding actions. We've a great deal of shipping that's being plagued by pirates, and it's time we did something about it," Nekja continued, with the inattentive air of someone who'd been repeating the same line over and over. "Mandalorian raiders have always been a nuisance, but now that the Sith have been routed,"--Nekja's mouth twisted into a contemptuous sneer--"they've joined up into groups that're devastating our shipping."

Carth nodded solemnly, while inside he was taking note of Nekja's strange reaction. Nekja either had a personal grudge against the Sith, or it was something else, and his gut was telling him it was something else. Oddly, Nekja's expression reminded him of the look on Canderous' face, back on Dantooine, when he'd been told about the Mandalorian raiders plaguing the farmers.

_Interesting._

Nekja handed a datapad across his desk to Carth. "Report to Lieutenant Gan, and he'll integrate you into his training sims. You'll want to pick up your weapons from your room before you go, unless you want to buy new ones. And maybe stop in at the company store," he said, eyeing Carth's armor with faint disapproval, "and get a new kit for yourself."

"I survived the wars wearing this armor, sir," Carth demurred primly. "Would've been killed a dozen times over if I hadn't been wearing it."

Nekja sniffed disapprovingly. "Superstitious soldiers," he muttered under his breath, but didn't protest any further or order Carth to buy new armor. Carth hid a smirk. "Very well, off you go, you have your orders."

Carth rose and braced to attention before turning in a smart about-face, leaving Nekja's office. He got back to his room with no trouble, but again not seeing another living soul on his way there.

Taking off his jacket, Carth slapped the dust and debris off it, leftover from the test he'd had to endure earlier, and fetched his blasters and blades from the rack. He very carefully did not disturb or obscure the tiny camera he'd installed on his belt buckle.

It was a manual-style camera, the size of his thumbnail, extremely antiquated in design, but it had several advantages over holocameras. First, it was manual, so it didn't have any betraying electronic emissions from a power source. Second, it used an ancient technique of polarizing pictures onto film, and therefore couldn't be erased as long as he was careful about not exposing the film to light, electromagnetic fields or radiation.

It was a miracle of microminiaturization technology, and he couldn't have constructed it from vague, half-remembered memories without BR-01's help. This was a technology that hadn't been in widespread use for millenia, since the output didn't move, was two-dimensional and had been made obsolete by sophisticated holographic projection equipment that could reproduce images with such crystal-clear realism. It was only dabbled with by obscure artists and esoteric tech enthusiasts, like himself, at least when he was younger. He thanked the Force for having an eccentric grandfather who'd loved tinkering with low and old technology. He was sure it would've tickled his grandfather's fancy to know the stuff he'd taught his grandson had practical applications.

He wasn't sure how much help it would be, since it was unlikely he'd be able to get any clear shots of anything, but he'd been able to catch a few pictures of Ojuun and Nekja. If they hadn't undergone cosmetic surgery, there was a good chance his pictures could identify the two. He hoped he'd been able to include the schematics on Nekja's office walls, once computer enhancement was brought into play. Unfortunately, his camera had its limitations: it had a limited amount of film, he had to remember to advance the film after taking a picture and it was susceptible to radiation and magnetic fields. He was by no means certain the autofocusing mechanism he'd cobbled together, powered by his heavy exoskeleton, was reliable enough.

And, of course, he had to be in a decent position to take pictures in the first place. As it was, he fully expected at least a fifth of the pictures he took would be blurry closeups of his hand. He was pretty sure his room was monitored, so he wouldn't be able to hide his suspicious movements of changing film rolls--not that he had more than one, since he'd only had time to fabricate just one roll.

Making sure his weapons were ready and strapped comfortably, he headed for the training floor. A few minutes later, he arrived on the floor specified by the datapad Nekja had given him. For the first time, Carth saw actual windows on the walls, instead of blank doors or the Boro sigil.

Casually, he rested his hand on his belt as he strolled past the windows, pausing for a second or two to look through them. He rubbed his thumb on his belt buckle, apparently in an absent, unconscious mannerism, but in actuality he was furiously taking pictures. He could've used the snapshot mechanism he'd installed in the glove of his right hand, but he planned to use that only if it was too suspicious for him to be touching his belt, since he hadn't really had time to conduct a good field test of it.

Through the windows, Carth saw mercs below practicing moving in squads and teams, running through narrow corridors and moving around obstacles. He had an excellent vantage point, since the window was elevated high above the floor, high enough that he could see the entire length of the room. It looked like a giant maze of ship or space station corridors, and more squads moved behind the first.

It looked like they were conducting the same test he'd had to run through this morning, only this time it was being properly done. These squads seemed to be doing the actual assaulting, as they took out defenses and droids. The squad taking point would separate into smaller groups to disarm mines, stepping aside for the more heavily-armed teams to move past them to take out the tougher defenses, like turrets and droids.

All of this Carth took in at a glance, since he didn't dare arouse suspicion by being overly curious. Moving on, he saw a control room scenario, where mercs were assaulting the doors and trying to take out droids that looked like frighteningly real sentients without destroying the terminals and computer equipment. That took precision, and something these squads needed to practice, as consoles and panels blew up, hit by stray blaster bolts. Carth left the window just as a Boro-livered sentient stalked out, obviously castigating the mercs on their poor performance, to judge by the wild and jerky movements of her arms and hands.

Carth moved to the last window without pausing to look, since this last room was where he was supposed to go. He palmed the door panel and stepped through onto a ramp that curved down to the floor below, into a narrow corridor formed by a partition separating the open-roofed training area from the observation post by the ramp. The noise of shrill alarms washed over him as soon as the door opened. The interior had been darkened to a red-tinged radiance, simulating a ship's dimmed lighting when power has been directed to the emergency backup generators.

At the bottom of the ramp he found a Boro-liveried Rodian, whom he assumed was the Lieutenant Gan he was supposed to be reporting to. The droopy-antennaed Rodian was watching a vidscreen glumly, where Carth could see two squads moving in the same corridor towards an intersection, both engaged in running retreats. If they didn't look where they were going, they were going to run right into each other, just about... now.

Carth winced nearly simultaneously with the Rodian when the two squads did indeed blunder into each other and shot their own side. Carth took advantage of the Rodian's inattention to take a few pictures. Shaking his head, the Rodian covered his large round eyes, as if he couldn't bear the sight of the colossal disaster anymore. Both squads had decimated the other, leaving the remaining few to be easily picked off by the pursuing droids. With the 'deaths' of both squads, the lights came on and the simulator shut down, silencing the wailing alarms.

Carth cleared his throat, startling the Rodian. "Tav Tagar reporting for duty, sir. Captain Nekja sent me," he said, bracing to stiff attention.

The Rodian looked him up and down, not exactly impressed, apparently, by the sight of him. "Ah, one of the last recruits, yes? Captain Nekja informed me of your arrival. Well, you can't be any worse than the ones I've already got," he said despondently.

Unsure if he was supposed to respond, Carth just said, "Sir."

Lieutenant Gan tapped at his console, bringing up Carth's dossier. "Oh, you have experience leading boarding actions," he said, sounding slightly cheered, his antennae rising back up.

_No_. "Yes, sir," Carth said, as confidently as he could.

"Well, maybe you won't shoot your own teammates in the back, then," said the lieutenant, antennae drooping again.

Carth decided to remain silent. The Rodian beckoned for him to follow, then turned to the wall and pressed a panel. A door hissed open, letting them into a large area that looked like a ship's docking bay. Since the simulator had been turned off, there were only props in the space. Carth supposed this was the staging area.

After a few minutes, the squads straggled in, shamefaced, looking much the worse for wear. The motley assortment of fighters all wore different kinds and types of armor, carrying everything from swords to blasters to repeaters, both light and heavy. They also wore some kind of harnesses that covered them from neck to toe, attached to braces on their arms and legs, probably used to freeze their limbs in place when their harnesses registered hits on their bodies. They looked curiously at him as they shuffled into sorry-looking lines they didn't even bother to dress, which offended Carth's military professionalism. They looked horribly amateurish aned undisciplined to him.

"Red Squad Leader, Blue Squad Leader, Green Squad Leader, Gold Squad Leader, front and center!" Lieutenant Gan barked. Four sentients hastened out of the crowd and stepped up in front of the lieutenant, surly glowers directed at their boots.

"Perhaps you four can tell me just what the hell you thought you were doing in there?" Lieutenant Gan asked in a falsely sweet, saccharine tone. "Why wasn't Blue Squad covering Green?"

Carth kept his face impassive as he listened to the Rodian's haranguing, eyes staring straight ahead, but secretly he was immensely pleased to hear the dressing down. It didn't look like they were very good at this yet, and all the signs of the trainers' agitation told him they didn't think they could meet an as yet unknown deadline. They said he was one of the last to be recruited, so perhaps they had met their hiring quota now.

Carth's attention suddenly snapped back when the Rodian said, "Tav Tagar is now Gold Squad Leader."

_Oh, shit._ Carth only just managed to keep himself from gaping at the Rodian and gasping like a landed fish. _I'm not going to be making any friends here, am I?_

The former Gold Squad leader, a large Duros, scowled at Carth, shooting him a murderous glare before reluctantly stepping back into the ranks, leaving a space in front of the lieutenant. Carth reluctantly stepped into the spot, ignoring the curious stares of the other squad leaders and the Duros' angry and outraged stare he could almost feel between his shoulderblades.

Lieutenant Gan looked at the rest of the mercs with barely disguised disgust and snapped, "Go hit the refreshers. Squad leaders stay." He turned back to the squad leaders with a sigh of frustration as the mercs trooped out, leaving the five of them alone in the staging area.

For the next hour, Carth watched replays of holos the lieutenant had made of the training session, Lieutenant Gan acidly pointing out where the squad leaders had gone wrong. Unobtrusively, Carth took pictures while the other squad leaders concentrated on listening to the Rodian.

To Carth, the problem looked like the mercs weren't familiar enough with the others, moving awkwardly and getting in each other's way more often than not. The awkwardness and hesitation meant they weren't able to form a cooperative team, and they fought too much like individuals, except for those fighters who'd been hired as a pair or group. Even those did not fight well, since they weren't used to working with those who'd never fought beside them.

The mercs didn't trust each other to watch their backs, so they tried to barrel through all opposition, heedless of the dangers they left the other squads open to. Since the other squads were busy dealing with trouble they could've avoided had they just been warned, that meant there were no reinforcements available to bail any other teams out. Which, predictably, led to each individual squad being overwhelmed by the opposition, isolated from help, or caught flat-footed and forced to retreat.

Carth was delighted, though he didn't show it. As one of the squad leaders, he'd be taking command of a group of six, but he didn't plan on staying long enough to get to know them. He would meet them later in the exercise room, he supposed, because the training sessions were over for the morning. Had he still been in the Fleet, he would've made sure he got to know his command immediately, but since he wasn't here to work, he would have to shirk his real duties to gather information.

"You're all scheduled for extra training sessions," Lieutenant Gan growled, glaring when a couple of the other squad leaders groaned disconsolately. "It's obvious looking at this, this _fiasco_"--the Rodian pointed one stubby, quivering finger at the holo, which was showing the moment just before the two squads had shot each other--"that you need more practice! Return here promptly after your exercise period. Dismissed!"

Carth was the only one who stood at attention at the order before following the others when they shuffled out of the room. Cautiously, he followed after them, but they were too weary after the training, and too busy moaning about the mandatory extra practice the lieutenant had scheduled to needle the new guy.

The chime sounded the beginning of the lunch hour just as they reached the wide double ramps leading up to the mess hall from the training floor. Carth looked out the windows of the other training rooms, where he could see streams of mercs moving out of the sims and towards their staging areas.

Moving more slowly so that he fell further and further behind the other squad leaders, he took out his datapad, deciding to find the other mess halls. Since there hadn't seemed to be anything tracking him when he'd gone for breakfast, he decided to assume they didn't bother checking to see if a merc belonged to a particular floor. In theory, he should be allowed into the others. He decided to test his theory out, as he walked back to his room to drop off his weapons.

It took some wandering and some backtracking when he got lost amid all the nearly identical, undecorated white corridors, but he eventually found the mess hall for a different section of mercs, again with two war droids standing guard outside the door. He tensed as he approached them, but they didn't even swivel their sensors to examine him.

Carth walked into a solid wall of noise, the huge space inside filled wall to wall with mercs, and all of them seemed to be talking at the tops of their voices. The roaring abated somewhat when they saw him and didn't recognize him, but the noise didn't fade to silence like it had at breakfast. He walked nonchalantly to the line of waiting mercs as they queued up to be served, doing his best to keep an eye on the space behind him. The one ahead of him, a short but muscular Bith, turned to glance curiously at him. Carth tensed, but the Bith didn't seem hostile.

"Mn, new here?" the Bith asked in flawless Basic as he turned his large black eyes on Carth, his voice a smooth baritone.

"Yeah," Carth replied, sliding along with his back to the wall. He tried to adopt a casual pose as he leaned against the smooth surface indolently.

"I'm Sulo Guuna," the Bith said amiably. He tilted his bulbous head quizzically. "Mn, what is that gesture you humans use for a greeting again...? Oh, mn, yes." He extended his left hand to Carth.

"It's supposed to be your _right_ hand, Sulo. I'm Tav Tagar," Carth said, with a grin to soften the correction as he held out his hand.

Guuna switched hands and took Carth's in a firm grip, shaking it. "Tav Tagar? Mn, where have I heard that name...?" Guuna muttered. Just as Carth began to sweat, wondering nervously if the Bith had met the real Tav Tagar, Guuna snapped his fingers. "Mn! I remember! You broke the test record!"

Carth suppressed a groan. Had the news gotten around this damned quickly? He eyed the Bith warily, muscles tensed. "Yeah," he replied cautiously. He glanced behind him, and was dismayed by the sight of more mercs who'd lined up behind him, trapping him with the Bith.

But Guuna didn't seem to be as hostile as the sentients Carth had met that morning. "Mn, smart trick, going into the vents and bypassing all the defenses. I should have thought of that, but, mn, I fought through everything like everyone else." His large round eyes glanced at Carth with grudging admiration.

Carth relaxed a trifle as they continued to move at a snail's pace, waiting for their turn to be served. He took out the 'win' Pazaak deck out of his trouser pocket and put it into the front pouch of his armor, as if the pack had sat uncomfortably. The Bith's eyes gleamed at the sight.

"You play Pazaak?" Guuna asked casually. He held out his tray to be served, now that they had finally arrived at the serving window.

"Yeah, a little. But I'm not too sure of the rules, though," Carth said with a disarming grin.

The Bith snorted forcefully despite his tiny nose. "Come on, Tagar, you expect me to fall for the oldest trick in the book, mn?"

Carth shrugged, holding his own tray out to receive a bowl of stew, choosing something light in anticipation of the physical exertion he would have to do later. "Was worth a shot, huh?"

"We'll see if you're as good at Pazaak as you are with the test, mn?" Guuna challenged.

"Heh, you're on," Carth said with a confident grin, snagging a mug of caffa, ignoring the more potent beverages, and followed the Bith. It looked like he was finally going to find some things out, starting with Guuna. Things were finally looking up.

Carth followed the Bith to a table of his compatriots. Like in the other mess hall, the sentients here had also settled into their own cliques, usually by race. Carth was the only human sitting in the Bith section, which earned him some odd looks from passing sentients. Guuna introduced Carth to the other Biths, who shuffled aside obligingly to make room for him and Guuna.

"Tav Tagar?" said the Bith on Carth's other side, this one tall and thin in scuffed blue light armor. "Is it true you had to destroy a giant eight-legged spider droid that had two flamethrowers at the end of the test?"

Carth choked on his caffa, jerked from his thoughts and task of counting heads by the Bith's question. Guuna helpfully thumped him on the back. "Wh-what?" Carth asked, his eyes watering from inhaling hot caffa down the wrong pipe. "Don't be ridiculous! Where the hell did you hear that? I didn't fight any flamethrowing spider droids, with or without eight legs!"

"Oh, you didn't?" the blue-armored Bith said, sounding disappointed. "Hey, I was only repeating what I heard, human," he added placatingly, when Carth glared at him.

"What're you, on a diet, mn?" Guuna asked Carth, seeking to defuse the situation.

"What?" Carth asked, turning away from the other Bith, who prudently turned to his food.

"I said, mn, you on a diet?" Guuna patiently repeated, pointing at the lone bowl of stew sitting forlornly on Carth's tray. Guuna's own tray held several items, most of them meat dishes, accompanied by a huge mug of ale.

"Oh, nah. I got extra practice later, can't stuff myself like a Gamorrean," Carth said, sounding glum. This should be the perfect opening for him to ask what these particular mercs were doing.

"Extra practice, mn?" the Bith said sympathetically. "We used to get those, too, but not so much anymore. Mn, I suppose we've gotten better."

"Yeah? What're you doing? They've got me practicing boarding actions," Carth offered, spooning up some of the thick, hot stew. He blew on it to cool it, then took a cautious bite. It wasn't too bad, to his relief, a bit on the bland side, but not completely inedible.

"Mn, boring stuff, really. We have to run through some corridors, taking care of droid sentries and platoons, then we run into this huge room and start shooting people. Well, droids dressed up to look like people, mn," Guuna corrected himself. "Mn, sounds like we got it easier than you."

"I guess," Carth said, trying to keep his interest hidden. "Big room, huh? We just get a lotta narrow corridors."

"Sounds a lot more exciting than what we're doing, though," grumbled another Bith, the skin of his bulbous head marred with scars. "They're just making us do the same damned thing over and over and over, and I'm getting sick and tired of it. They just make us do it faster and faster. I don't see the point." The Bith grumbled under his breath for a moment before stuffing his tiny mouth with a spoonful of soup.

"Yeah, mn, it _is_ getting too easy," Guuna agreed. "Especially the bit where we're just blasting at a bunch of droids that don't even fight back, just run around like gizka with their heads cut off."

Carth frowned. That sounded like the complete opposite of what he was going to be doing. "Is that what everyone else here is doing?" he asked, as-if casual, continuing to spoon his stew up.

Guuna shrugged, his face currently stuffed full. One of the other Biths at the table spoke, this one also scarred, dressed in red light armor. "I seen some of the others moving in little office-type spaces, got cubicles an' everything," the red-armored Bith said. "Don't envy them that exercise, they can't hardly move in those little bitty halls."

"Enough shop talk," Guuna cried. He took out a battered Pazaak deck from a pouch on his brown light armor. "Let's play, Tagar. Mn, I've been looking for a decent player here for ages!"

Carth pushed aside his tray with his empty bowl and took out his own deck. "Bring it on."

*** * ***

Carth scratched at his itchy cheeks and chin as he headed for the exercise room from the mess hall. From all that he could tell, Sayir was planning some sort of assaults, though he didn't know or recognize any specific targets. That was worrying, certainly, and coupled with the impatient anxiety of the trainers, it all added up to an initiative that was soon to be executed. All of which didn't exactly make him feel at ease.

Stepping between the usual pair of ubiquitous war droids guarding the door, Carth stepped into the exercise room when the doors opened for him. He saw a huge, cavernous room, nearly the size of the mess hall, though quieter. The space echoed with the soft grunts emitted by the few hundred sentients exerting themselves at the different types of exercise machines. Carth could see all sorts of equipment scattered around, and off to the side he could see smaller rooms where mercs were sparring, with and without weapons.

He headed towards an empty weight lifting bench. The other mercs around cast the usual speculative and curious stares at him, which he ignored as best he could. But he was aware of a shuffling in the crowd behind him, and felt the sudden tension in the air as the attention of the mercs sharpened into an alert and avid silence.

Carth turned slowly, casually, and was not really surprised to see the two Gamorreans and the Trandoshan he'd seen at breakfast moving towards him, spreading out so that they were between him and the exit. He spotted the two humans when he swept his gaze around in a quick scan of the crowd, but he didn't see the Esoomian.

Oh, well, at least he only had three to worry about, rather than five or six... Dammit, he'd been too optimistic, because the two humans were also stepping forward. Great, five against him. Just dandy. He was the only one in armor, at least, which was a small advantage. A very small advantage, though, given the numbers.

Carth retreated to the weight lifting bench, keeping his eyes on all five of his opponents as he backed away. He felt the lack of his weapons keenly, but he'd had to put them back in his room before going to lunch. He backed up until he was next to the bench, with one of the exercise machines on his right.

"Told you dis not over, Bird Man," said Grorm, the fat Gamorrean, as he smacked one ham fist into the palm of his other hand.

"We teach Bird Man lesson now," snarled the other Gamorrean.

Carth's lip curled. "Five against me? Should I be flattered it's going to take so many of you to beat me?"

Settling into a slight crouch, Carth balanced his weight on his feet as he considered his options. If he backed down, he'd be the target for all sorts of snubbing, from shoves to full-blown bullying attacks. If he fought them and lost, he would at least get some respect for trying his best against five opponents.

The kicker was that he didn't know if they would let him off that easily. They could well claim it'd been an accident, that they hadn't _meant_ to beat him to death. They'd just been jesting in some innocent fun, oops, these humans, so frail. No, he had to emerge victorious somehow in this extremely stacked fight. Respect for being a good fighter could make it easier for him to get information, and like-minded bullies would know to leave him well enough alone.

That he would get to smash in the faces of these bullies had nothing to do with anything, nope.

_You're such a bad liar, Onasi._

The Trandoshan moved first, lashing out with his fists, jabbing at Carth's face with his left and at his torso with his right. Carth blocked the Trandoshan's left hook with his right arm, the impact that vibrated his arm being softened by his gauntlet. He twisted to the side so that the Trandoshan's gut punch hit only glancingly on his stomach. Out of the corners of his eyes, Carth saw the Gamorreans moving in behind him. He couldn't let them get close and grapple with him; he wasn't confident he could break their holds if they managed to grab him, given their superior strength.

All of these calculations passed in a flash through Carth's mind. As the Trandoshan moved off balance from punching at Carth's stomach, Carth rammed his left elbow down into the Trandoshan's back at what would've been kidney level on a human, and hoped the blow would have the same effect on the Trandoshan's physiology. Carth heard the Gamorreans closing in behind him, so he seized the Trandoshan in a half-nelson and spun around while rolling his right hip, throwing the Trandoshan bodily into the Gamorreans, knocking them down and fouling them up.

That took care of the three, just in time for him to get rushed by the two humans. The redhead and the shaved man moved easily together, so Carth couldn't rely on the fact that they weren't used to each other's tactics, like he could with the other three. The redhead charged forward first, on Carth's left, the other moving just as quickly on his right. Carth was still between the bench and the exercise machine, so they fortunately didn't have much space to pin him.

Carth fell backwards onto his back, balancing himself on his hands and legs just as they reached him and swept his left leg around, knocking their legs out from under them when they halted, surprised by his unorthodox move. Carth swept his leg back around, smashing in the jaw of the redhead with his heel, feeling something crunch as the blow juddered up his leg. Blood streamed from the man's broken teeth and nose as his head rocked back. It hadn't been a particularly hard blow, since Carth didn't have as much leverage as he would've liked, and it hadn't knocked the man unconscious, though it should serve to keep him out of the fight.

Rolling backwards as he shoved at the floor with his hands in a reverse somersault, Carth got back to his feet. He had a small heavy dumbbell he had seized from the weight lifting bench in one hand. He hadn't really been hurt yet, but there were at least four more of them, so he couldn't rely on remaining unscathed.

The roaring of the crowds registered on his awareness for the first time, and he could hear the cries and shouts of furious betting going on. Some were chanting "Bird Man", cheering him on, while others were cheering for his other opponents. Very few were betting on him, it seemed, to judge by the paucity of the chants favoring him. Carth scowled, feeling sweat that was just beginning to roll down his face, adding to the damnable itching of his chin and cheeks.

There were too many opponents for him to be able to stop; they could wear him down by sheer numbers. He had to end this quickly, and that meant he couldn't hesitate or hold back--he _had_ to disable at least some of them.

_Alright. Time to clean house._

The shaved man had recovered, but he wasn't interested in following on after Carth, apparently, since he was too busy dragging his partner off, out of harm's way. Blood dribbled down the redhead's chin to drip onto his clothes, and his jaw lay askew, dislocated or broken. He wasn't unconscious, but too disoriented and in pain to fight anymore, for now. The eyes of the two humans met Carth's, and Carth knew he'd made two enemies for life here, if those hate-filled glances were anything to judge by. Carth turned back, but he'd left things behind him alone for just a little too long.

Two pairs of arms like hard durasteel covered in rank sweat grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms up behind his back, and propelled him backwards. All of Carth's breath blew out explosively when he was slammed hard against the wall, the impact jolting painfully through his entire body.

His heart sank with dismay even through his stunned brain when he realized it was the Gamorreans who held him, though their fetid breath and rank stench should've given him a clue. Breathless, he was pinned like a particularly bizarre hunting trophy to the wall by their arms, hanging a few inches above the floor, his own arms trapped behind his back, wrenched painfully up in the Gamorreans' grips. The Trandoshan swaggered up, needle teeth glinting with a malevolent gleam when he bared them in a triumphant grin at Carth.

"Not so cocky now, eh, human?" the Trandoshan drawled. He suddenly launched a punch to Carth's gut, following on with his other fist to hammer fast, hard blows into Carth's ribs. The little breath Carth had regained was lost as he expelled it from the blows, and he tried to curl up to protect his belly, but he was held immobile by the Gamorreans. His eyes watered, but the Trandoshan didn't hit him in the solar plexus, at least.

"Norko tink Bird Man not so tough," the Gamorrean on Carth's right said, heard through the sounds of the blows the Trandoshan was raining on Carth's torso. The other Gamorrean squealed crude laughter.

Carth grunted with pain at each blow, his teeth clenched so tightly his jaw ached. Sweat trickled continuously into his eyes as the simmering anger inside him started to flare up. He was getting really, really pissed about being pushed around by these mercs just because he'd broken some stupid record, as if a man's worth was determined by his ability to fight. Hell, maybe that was all these mercs had to boost their egos.

_Enough of this shit._

Carth braced himself against the wall, ignoring the protests of pain from his abdominal muscles as he used the Gamorreans' holds on him for extra leverage and stability, and brought his legs up to launch a two-footed kick right into the Trandoshan's chest when he stepped back to throw another punch. The Trandoshan was thrown back several feet by the force of Carth's kick, staggering as he tried to regain his own breath and balance, but fell over backwards when he hit the weight lifting bench. The watching mercs roared their approval as underdog Carth turned the tables.

The Gamorreans slackened their holds on Carth's arms from surprise for a moment. Carth brought his legs back down from swinging them up and slammed his heels into the fat thighs of the Gamorreans on either side of him, breaking their grips completely as they squealed shrilly with surprised anger and pain. Carth ripped himself away and brought his hand up, curled into a fist around the dumbbell he still held, and spun into a low crouch to punch Grorm savagely in the crotch with all the force of his momentum, the weight of the dumbbell and strength of his arm behind it.

Grorm wasn't wearing any armor, so Carth's fist encountered no resistance other than the kind flesh provided, his knuckles crunching into that very sensitive spot. Grorm uttered a tiny squeak that was rather at odds with his size and folded up, clutching himself. Carth couldn't help the satisfied grin that crossed his face.

Something slammed into Carth's back before he could get back on balance, and he rolled with it, fetching up against a treadmill, using the momentum of his roll and the force of the blow to get back onto his feet. He'd lost the dumbbell he'd had in his hand, unfortunately. Carth dropped into a combat crouch, trying to catch his breath and recover from the blow to his back. Norko must've kicked Carth after he had taken care of Grorm, and now Norko was rushing at him, arms spread in preparation for a grapple. Norko's beady eyes were nearly hidden in the folds of flesh, his face set in an angry mask, his tusks and yellowed teeth bared in a rictus.

Carth's eye fell on another weight lifting bench near him, and he spun, snapping out a kick that took the shaved man right in the stomach. Carth had seen the man sneaking up behind him in the reflection from the weight on the barbell, and Carth's kick had struck him just as he had charged. The man's own momentum had added to the force of Carth's blow, and he doubled up, arms wrapping around his abused belly.

Hearing the Gamorrean's heavy footfalls behind him, Carth ducked under the muscular arms reaching out to catch him in a bear hug. Carth turned around and grabbed the Gamorrean's clothes in a tight grip for leverage, then brought his leg up, driving his knee into the Gamorrean's ample stomach. Carth spun in place as the Gamorrean bent over from the impact and threw himself forward, right fist braced against his left palm, using his right forearm like a bar that swept around to smash into the Gamorrean's thick jaw, putting all the force of his spin, arm and torso into the blow.

The Gamorrean's head snapped back from the blow and he staggered back a few steps before falling onto his knees, stunned. Had Carth used that move on a less sturdily built sentient, the jaw would've been pulverized, but the Gamorrean's thick skull and heavy jaw meant he had only been knocked half unconscious. Carth stepped forward and launched a kick that did shatter the Gamorrean's jaw, breaking it askew, the blow reverberating from Carth's toes up his leg. Norko slumped sideways, falling like a tree to land with a thud on the floor. The Gamorrean did not move, and blood leaked and dribbled from his broken mouth.

_Three down, two to go._

Carth turned around, eyes darting around to find his remaining opponents, using the short break to catch his breath. Parts of his body were clamoring for attention and complaining, but the adrenaline rush muted their cries. He expected to pay in full and with interest later, but right now his attention had to be focused on the other two.

The Trandoshan was still there, as was the shaved man, both recovered from the blows Carth had inflicted on them. They had learned to be cautious, though, having seen him deal with three of their fellows all by himself. A look around reassured him of the numbers; Grorm and Norko were both still down. Grorm was curled up around himself, and a small pool of vomit had formed under his face. Norko was still out like a light, and the redhead had been propped up against another treadmill, his hands clutching his face, and blood streamed from his chin. The redhead's eyes glittered with hate as he watched Carth, but glaring was all he was capable of.

Carth backed away slowly, watching as the human and Trandoshan approached warily, spread out to flank him. The human moved first, stepping in to throw a left hook at Carth's face. Carth blocked with his right arm, but it had been a feint; Carth was tiring, so he didn't catch the man's right hand in time, and he was able to land a solid blow to Carth's abused ribs. Carth coughed, grimacing with pain as he backed up, arms brought up to block anymore blows. He shook his head, as if he were having trouble with his vision. The man smiled, giving Carth a macabre view of his filed teeth, and followed up as Carth retreated.

Bending slightly, Carth attempted to feign more damage to his ribs than there really were, and listed to his left as if he were favoring his left side. Unfortunately, Carth really didn't have to feign; his ribs were throbbing with pain, and only his heavy exoskeleton had kept them from being cracked or broken. The Trandoshan saw this and moved to flank him, confident that Carth's energy was flagging and he had taken too many blows to be able to fight back effectively anymore. Carth's lip curled at this display of cowardice.

The human snapped out his leg in a fast side kick, aiming for Carth's left flank, guessing him to be weaker and vulnerable there. Carth caught the man's leg, right hand catching him on the kneecap, his other hand clamped firmly around the man's ankle. He pulled, extending the leg; the man managed not to fall, but hopped to keep his balance. Carth gave him no time to recover, instead pushing down on the kneecap with his right hand while yanking the leg up by the ankle, and was rewarded with the sharp snap of breaking bones and cartilage as the man's leg broke at the knee, bent at a nearly forty-five degree angle in the wrong direction. The man screamed shrilly and clutched his broken leg when Carth dropped him unceremoniously.

A blow to the side of Carth's head made stars spangle his vision, and he staggered, shaking his head to try to clear his eyes. He nearly tripped over the man whose leg he had broken, but the human was too busy trying to deal with his own pain to try and trip Carth up. Carth's hand encountered the smooth, cool metal bar of an exercise machine's frame, and used it to keep his balance.

Carth's sight cleared enough to see the Trandoshan launching an uppercut to his jaw, but he didn't have time to block it, though he managed to move his head back just far enough for the punch to graze his chin. Even though most of the force of the punch had been directed away, Carth's lip still split and his nose gushed blood as the impact rocked his head back, and only his hold on the frame kept him from staggering backward and falling. Damn, he was tiring, Carth thought clinically through the fog of pain.

_Shit._ Carth gulped in a painful breath, tasting the blood from his lip and bleeding nose, though his nose wasn't broken, thankfully. _There is no pain, there is only beating down the assholes who hit me_, he thought, deliberately twisting the Jedi Code. Revan would approve. He grinned, unheeding of the sharp stinging as his split lip stretched. He spat the blood from his mouth.

The grin seemed to unnerve the Trandoshan, but not enough to keep him from throwing a right hook at Carth's torso. The second Carth had taken to gather his thoughts and strength was enough to clear his vision; he threw up his arms, crossed at the wrists to block the Trandoshan's punch, and threw up his knee to snap out a straight kick to the Trandoshan's chest, in almost exactly the same spot where Carth had kicked him earlier. The blow landed solidly and the Trandoshan staggered back.

Carth took the time to catch his breath as best he could with ribs that ached, knowing he should follow up that kick to deal with the Trandoshan once and for all, but his head hurt too much, almost too much to think, and he couldn't seem to make his limbs move any faster. His breathing was raspy and labored, his vision not much better, and he clung to the exercise machine's frame to hold himself upright, legs splayed apart to keep his balance. Blood and sweat mingled on his face, trickling down from his open panting mouth to drip off his chin.

The Trandoshan recovered and saw that Carth looked nearly helpless, keeping himself upright, it seemed, by only sheer force of will. He rushed forward again at Carth and snapped out with a kick of his own, aimed at Carth's crotch, an inviting target when Carth's legs were splayed apart like they were. The Trandoshan swung his leg up, viper quick.

But Carth had anticipated just such a dirty move; in fact, he'd planned for it, hoping the Trandoshan would take the bait, and his gamble had paid off. Carth bent his knees inward, clamping the Trandoshan's ankle, then pivoted in place on his toes, pulling the Trandoshan off balance so that he fell onto his knee. The violence of Carth's spin broke the Trandoshan's leg at the ankle as Carth's right knee pushed it against his left. The sound of the breaking bones cut right through the roaring of the cheering mercs, and the Trandoshan bellowed in pain. Still with his knees clamping the Trandoshan's foot at the ankle, Carth completed his pivot and released the limb, bringing up his right leg to kick the Trandoshan in the head, the shock of the hard blow vibrating his foot.

Knocked senseless from Carth's kick, the Trandoshan fell on his face, ankle twisted at an unnatural angle. Carth wiped the sweat out of his eyes with one tired hand, tasting blood from his split lip, and looked around the roaring crowd of mercs. There were no more opponents for him to fight, which was good, because he was nearly ready to drop dead. Everything hurt, from his face to his knuckles to his gut to his back and ribs. The loud chants of "Bird Man--Bird Man--Bird Man" rang in his ears. His performance must've impressed them enough to overpower their resentment at losing their bets.

Carth turned around, hearing the Trandoshan moaning and whimpering. He stepped forward and crouched, ignoring the twinges of pain at the movement, and grabbed the Trandoshan by the back of the neck.

"The name isn't Bird Man. It's Tav Tagar. Try to remember it," Carth growled into the Trandoshan's ear. Sickened suddenly by the fear and panic in the Trandoshan's wide eyes, Carth dropped him and straightened up, tired of all the violence.

Carth walked through the ring of mercs, who respectfully parted to let him pass to the doors, deciding he'd had enough exercise for the day. He forced himself to move normally, even though his ribs hurt like hell, his stomach was sore and his jaw throbbed with a dull ache. Once he was outside the doors, though, he drooped, not caring if the droids saw him. He just didn't want any of the mercs inside to see him like this. He leaned one hand against the wall and panted for a bit, each breath making his sides and stomach hurt.

Limping off to his room, Carth felt a pang of longing for Revan's and Dustil's company. Alas, there was no Revan here to heal his injuries and give him a relaxing massage or back rub. He didn't dare go to the sickbay here to get medical care for his hurts, since he certainly didn't want anyone to take his blood and discover his real identity, nor did he need his fake skin dye and makeup to be revealed. All he could do was use the medpacs he had and suck it up.

He sighed heavily, wincing as he jarred his ribs. On top of all his injuries, he had to lead a squad of resentful mercs a little later, and he probably would have to deal with the deposed squad leader in the same way. Somehow he didn't think a consolation beer would be enough for the Duros.

Carth hoped Dustil and Revan were having an easier time than he was. They could hardly have a worse one.

* * *

Nyvanna: Heh, isn't it? But have some pity for the poor woman; she hadn't slept much the night Carth left for his mission, plus they get chased all over the damned place by fake policemen... Even former Dark Lords need their beauty sleep to be a properly effective mastermind. :D And having a conversation like that when it's so noisy is safe enough... they can't be monitoring every damned thing, after all.

snackfiend101: You saw exactly how much trouble Carth can get into in this very chapter, no? But Revan does have the whole 'swirling Force' thing. Trouble magnet. Bet she was jailbait when she was younger. ;D

Feza: Thanks. You have no idea how much time I spend, wracking my brains to write him and Revan...

ether-fanfic: Aw, thanks. And yeah, they do share similar traits, don't they? Like stubbornness...

Krazed Kaioshin Fangirl: Aw, sorry it ruined your day. Was it at least a surprise? Carth/Revan? Mn, maybe. Mwahahah. And there's nothing wrong with a good mint... "Hello, my name is Revan, and I'm... a mint addict." AA - Altoids Anonymous. Glad you don't think my Revan's Mary Sueish. I try very, very hard to keep her from perfect.

Rascarin: Thanks very much.

Kosiah: Actually, Carth and Revan _have_ talked about her being the Dark Lord thing, but I just haven't shown it yet. Thanks for liking Dustil, he's extremely hard for me to write. And here you just read the whole merc situation! Enjoy. :)

Lunatic Pandora1: Enough with Carth and lightsabers already... :p And no, they never have it easy.

thesnowman: Thanks. Hope you enjoyed this Carth-centric chapter.

Prisoner 24601: Thanks, glad you enjoyed. And yeah, Revan couldn't help being sleep deprived and coming up with such a lame-ass plan... And really, at least she admitted she'd been blindsided, whereas I don't think your Min/Revan would ever admit she'd been wrong about something. ;)

Sera Terranova: Thanks. But don't you think Revan twinking like that with her Force powers would make for a less entertaining fic? I mean, if she gets out of everything using the Force, she'd become a Mary Sue. Revan _is_ worried about Carth, she just doesn't show it. :) At least, not yet... And Dustil was too busy being exasperated with Revan and his own situation to worry about his father as yet.

Tholhidhwen: Thanks! Enjoy the rest!

Firera: Hehee, answer to that next chapter. Thanks.

VMorticia: Glad you enjoyed. But at least you'd been stuck with people your own age and they were relatively fit. Imagine being sandwiched between two fat old people who stank of BO...

Menolly Onasi: Absolute forgiveness? Dustil? Surely you jest...? Absolute forgiveness is a long way away, and I'm not sure it's even possible for Dustil. Dustil/Carth yes, Dustil/Revan... no. At least not for a good long while.


	50. Mystery

**Chapter 50: Mystery**

"Bospho? Murdered?" Revan repeated as she stared at Captain Morin, completely aghast from the shocked expression on her face. Dustil's jaw had dropped open, and he could only feel the same, shocked again for the third time today.

Captain Morin took in their surprised expressions and his lips curved up in a thin and grim wintry smile, though it lacked humor. He clasped his hands on his desk and leaned on them. "I take from your reactions you didn't know. Good. That means the media doesn't know yet, either. We'd like to keep it that way for as long as possible. My Lady has commanded me to give you all the relevant information, and to answer any of your questions that I can."

"Is Lady Versenne alright?" Dustil asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

Revan looked just as concerned. "Yes, is she alright?"

"Aye, Lady Versenne is fine and unharmed, if greatly distraught by her bodyguard's death," Captain Morin reassured them. "Poor lass," he mumbled under his breath. Dustil didn't think they were supposed to hear that.

"I take it Bospho managed to keep her from getting hurt," Revan said, her brow furrowing in concern and worry at this unexpected development.

Captain Morin shook his head. "Bospho, may he rest well, wasn't killed in the line of duty. At least, not in his chief duty of protecting our Lady."

Dustil's eyebrows climbed up his forehead in surprise. "But, but how was he killed, then? Or, I guess, how was he murdered?" he asked, perplexed. He wasn't sure he wanted to think about who or what could kill the very large bodyguard, a man obviously skilled in combat.

Captain Morin sighed and rubbed his forehead with the fingers of one hand. "We don't, actually, even know if he really was murdered."

Revan frowned. "I don't understand. If you don't think he was murdered, then why the whole runaround with the guards?"

"That merely made a convenient excuse for us to locate and,"--Captain Morin coughed--"_detain_ as many known people Bospho had had contact and dealings with." He sighed. "Unfortunately, I have been newly assigned the honor and duty of guarding my Lady, and I am not privy to many of his activities. Bospho, I'm not sure if you were aware, was not _just_ a bodyguard. I have only just been informed of my Lady's plans, and your role in them."

From the faint look of distaste on Captain Morin's face, Dustil thought he didn't exactly approve of them, or of their involvement and association with Lady Versenne. _Too bad._

"I cannot say I approve of my Lady's trust in two offworlders and outsiders, but I have my orders," Captain Morin continued in a resigned voice. "Let it not be said that I am an insubordinate bodyguard, especially not on my first day on the job."

"Your caution and trust are appreciated, Captain," Revan said, nodding respectfully. "But if you're here, who's guarding Lady Versenne?"

"None of Lady Versenne's other guards were injured, since they were with her at the time, and the other shift of guards have durasteel-clad alibis. All have been subjected to lengthy and intense interrogations, so they have been exonerated," Captain Morin replied.

"Who named us as suspects, anyway?" Revan asked, after digesting that bit of information. That was something Dustil wanted to know, too.

Captain Morin coughed. "No one, actually."

Dustil frowned. "Er, then why us?"

"You were merely one of the last sentients Bospho had contacted. That alone made you of interest to us," Captain Morin explained. "Since we knew you had a ship here, we knew you would come here sooner or later, hence the order calling for your capture."

"Then you're not the ones who sent those policemen after us?" Dustil asked. "He isn't a real police officer, either."

"No. If House Vosaryk sent them, they're from some other branch of our security, but I don't think they are. There are no records of the man you have in that crate of yours." Captain Morin frowned deeply. "He is a mystery to me as well as to you."

"I'm glad we hadn't accidentally taken down one of your people," Revan said, looking relieved.

"Why send agents after you when we could eventually catch you here?" Captain Morin said reasonably.

"Mn," was Revan's obviously edited and diplomatic response. Dustil simply scowled.

Captain Morin's smile was wintry and thin. "I apologize for your treatment. But it wasn't all that unpleasant, surely?"

Revan made an ambiguous gesture with her hand. "Since you're taking us to Lady Versenne, I suppose we can't complain." Dustil prudently decided to remain silent, although the scowl he still had on his face was probably speaking volumes.

"In any case, your capture of this man may prove to be an unexpected boon to our investigation," Captain Morin said, returning to the subject.

"Well, it certainly does look as if the group who tried to capture us is part of the same, ah--organization?--that may have killed Bospho. When they captured us, they charged us with murder," Revan said slowly.

Captain Morin's eyebrows flew up. "Aye? Interesting. It can't be coincidence. It sounds like someone's sick idea of a joke. Now I'm more certain than ever Bospho was murdered, not simply killed in an industrial accident."

"I'm glad we're not suspects in Bospho's murder, in any case," Revan said quietly.

Captain Morin's face scrunched with a dyspeptic, long-suffering look. "I would not normally allow suspects to be walking around unrestrained, but my orders were clear. Lady Versenne was very... forceful."

"We must've been eliminated from your short list, Captain, or you'd have us cooling our heels in the brig regardless, orders or no orders. Am I right?" Revan asked, tucking one hand under her chin in a deceptively relaxed pose.

The captain nodded reluctantly. "Aye. I would've risked insubordination if I thought either of you had had even a remote connection to Bospho's death. You _were_, actually, on my short list."

"What changed your mind?" Dustil asked curiously, an eyebrow raised. Not that he wasn't grateful for not being locked into a broom closet-sized cell, but he was deeply curious as to why they'd been let loose.

"All traffic to and from the shipyard is carefully monitored. All docking bays, loading bays--anything a ship can dock at--have surveillance cameras. We have orbital satellites covering the entire shipyard, so any such scenario in which a droid or an EVA maneuver dropped out of a passing ship to land somewhere and cut a hole in the side would be captured on our monitors," Captain Morin explained. "Since none of our monitors showed either of you during the time of Bospho's absence, you were exonerated."

"How do you know your logs or monitors haven't been compromised?" Revan asked. "There are slicers for hire out there with the capability."

"Aye," Captain Morin agreed. "You're right. But House Vosaryk, like any other House, is protective of its trade secrets. We have measures with built-in redundancy mechanisms in place to keep our logs intact, and these are checked regularly."

Revan waved a hand palm up, conceding the captain's point, though she had a dubious look on her face. Dustil supposed it was because she had that inherent slicer's disrespect for supposedly invulnerable or fool-proof systems.

"We might've been in disguise," Revan murmured, playing devil's advocate. "You must've known how we came up."

"Aye. I believe we shall have to change that policy in the future," Captain Morin said dryly. "Yes, we considered that, too. But our monitors showed no sentients that matched your descriptions, even after extrapolating data and combining it with projected superimpositions."

"Accomplices?" Revan suggested.

Dustil glared at Revan. What the hell was she trying to do, convince the captain to throw them into the brig?

Captain Morin seemed to have the same idea. "You've asked me a whole host of these sort of questions, lady," he said with an arched eyebrow. "Might I ask why? Perhaps you'd like to submit to a truth serum interrogation?"

Dustil's eyes met Revan's. There were all sorts of reasons why they couldn't submit to such questioning, the very first being the probable reactions to the answers they'd receive for the question, "What is your name?"

Revan smiled sheepishly. "Ah, no. I ask these questions for entirely selfish reasons, I'm afraid. I'm allergic to sentients who try to capture me. I suspect that there is a connection between our captors and whoever murdered Bospho."

"Aye," Captain Morin said, nodding slowly. "I've come to that conclusion myself. That is, _if_ you're speaking the truth."

Revan simply smiled, to which Captain Morin responded with a very dry look.

"Bospho must've died soon after I spoke with him last night," Revan said, gaze turned inwards as she looked upon her memories. Her fingers tapped against her thumb, each in turn.

"Aye. He disappeared not long after his last recorded message to you, the timestamp of which was set in our security logs," Captain Morin agreed. His eyes flickered with a suspicious glint, as if that little detail was damning in and of itself.

"Just what happened to him, anyway?" Dustil interjected. He couldn't help feeling bad that Bospho had died; Bospho had clearly been devoted to his duty and his charge, even if he _had_ been a suspicious git. Although for a man in Bospho's profession, Dustil supposed 'suspicious git' was not only a requirement, but a calling.

Captain Morin's face hardened again, and the knuckles of his clasped hands turned white. "You'll soon see for yourselves, but he seemed to have been killed in an unfortunate accident. Or so we're supposed to believe."

"Industrial accident?" Revan prompted.

"Aye." Captain Morin's lips thinned, then he shook his head. "But I really shouldn't say anymore; since Lady Versenne wishes to speak to you about this, I shouldn't taint your observations beforehand."

A small beep sounded from the desk console. "Morin," the captain said shortly when he had depressed the receive button.

"We're approaching the docking bay, and will be landing in a moment, Captain," said a woman's voice. The pilot, Dustil assumed.

"Very well." Captain Morin turned back to them after closing the signal. "I suppose you heard that?"

Revan and Dustil nodded. "Would you like us to be cuffed again?" Revan asked with a mischievous smile. Dustil kicked her on the ankle. _Dammit, Revan, shut up!_ he thought exasperatedly.

Captain Morin looked like he'd like to do that very much, but merely said, "No, that won't be necessary. But I'd like to provide you with an honor guard." His dry smile said it was an offer they couldn't refuse, and that it was not, exactly, an honor.

Revan shrugged philosophically. Dustil didn't feel nearly as philosophical about it, but didn't see where they had any choice in the matter. Protest would be futile, and perhaps telling.

The roar under Dustil's boots slowly wound down, and as he felt the clamping of the docking cradle taking hold of the shuttle, the vibration of the engines died down to a muted purr, then a quiet hum.

The captain rose to his feet, and Revan and Dustil perforce rose also. The captain led them out into the narrow corridor, the two guards outside falling into step behind. Two guards already waited for them at the hatch, and preceded them all down the ramp. A third carried a box under one arm, which Dustil hoped contained their weapons, and held the tether of the packing crate in his other hand.

Dustil looked around the docking bay; it was a great deal smaller and intimate than the other docking bays he'd seen around the shipyard. It was clearly intended as a private entrance, just big enough for a shuttle, or a small personal interstellar yacht. Two large war droids, painted in Vosaryk colors, accompanied two husky, Vosaryk-liveried sentients at the blast doors. The House apparently banned droids only within its headquarters, but didn't mind using them elsewhere. The guards' livery marked them as the House family's personal retainers, like the guards who currently surrounded them, and had their blaster rifles ported, not slung over their shoulders. They were on high alert, then.

The captain and guards were all subjected to comprehensive and rigorous identification procedures, with retina, voice and palm scans. Dustil was afraid they would record his and Revan's prints, also, but they apparently thought they were either guests or prisoners. The difference, from his point of view, was hard to tell. Both he and Revan had false prints on their hands, and retina-distorted lenses, but he was leery about being recorded. There was no telling what could be done with the information. He watched as one of the guards checked the packing crate, raised an eyebrow at the bizarre contents and passed it through after a low-voiced discussion with the captain.

Captain Morin led them out of the small docking bay, which was painted gun-metal gray, though this one had a particularly large representation of the Vosaryk logo, and 'PRIVATE' painted in Galactic Basic letters. They turned down a corridor that looked no different than the ones he'd already seen, except that there was carpet underfoot, and there were smaller doors, set at more frequent intervals; the offices, Dustil guessed. A set of large, slightly more ornate doors, with the Vosaryk logo done in bas relief, sat at the end of the hall.

Sentients in Vosaryk livery passed them, going in and out of doors, glancing curiously at them. Dustil supposed not many spacers were escorted to the boss' office surrounded by armed guards. Two guards, again accompanied by two war droids, stood outside the double doors. They waited patiently while Captain Morin and the rest of their entourage were scanned, including their packing crate. One of the door guards murmured into a communicator, then opened the doors when he received his answer.

Dustil followed Revan into a room that was, at first glance, nearly wall-to-ceiling glass. Or rather, viewscreens. They showed an incredible view of the space outside, as ships moved past almost uncomfortably close, retreating or approaching like curious fish. He wasn't sure if the room was on the surface of the shipyard, and he really was looking through windows, or if they were just screens showing the picture from a sensor outside. He could see the more distant orbital facilities, in addition to the nearer space stations, crisp and sharp thanks to the vacuum. He could amuse himself with ship watching all day with such a magnificent vista.

The rest of the room was as luxurious as anything Dustil had seen in House Vosaryk or House Khyrohn. The deep plush carpet softened and nearly silenced their footfalls, and he could smell the faint scent of spices, adding flavor to the stale, recycled air. There were no statuary or artwork, but perhaps they would've merely cluttered up and obscured the view of Sluis Van airspace. A communications system took up much of the space, rather similar to the setup in Lord Khyrohn's apartments, though it was a great deal neater. A large, jet-black computer console desk sat in front of one of the largest viewscreens.

Lady Versenne, slim and elegant in a simple white robe, belted with a wide black sash, platinum hair tied back in a simple black ribbon, turned from her contemplation of the view at their entrance. Bekim, her portly servitor, stood nearby, also in a white-and-black version of Vosaryk livery. Dustil's mouth went dry at the sight of Lady Versenne, noticing with some concern her red-rimmed eyes, the dark circles under them, and her blotchy face. White and black were the colors of mourning, he remembered suddenly, a detail gleaned from Revan's far-ranging research on Sluis Van. _She must be in mourning for Bospho._

Captain Morin turned to the guard towing the packing crate and waved. The guard nodded, handed the box that held Dustil's and Revan's weapons off to another of his fellows and pulled the crate into a discreet side room.

"Captain Kera'al," Lady Versenne said, her voice slightly hoarse as she greeted them. She nodded to Revan, then nodded at Dustil. "Stiller." She smiled wanly. "I greet you and welcome you here. Please be seated." She saved at the chairs that'd been pulled up in front of her desk. Only two, but Dustil supposed she'd been warned ahead of time of just how many sentients her guards were bringing.

As Dustil and Revan moved to the chairs, Lady Versenne frowned. "Captain Morin. Why have you not returned their weapons?"

Captain Morin dismissed the rest of the guards, who moved away to stand at the walls at equal intervals with their blaster rifles ported. He turned to Lady Versenne. "My Lady, I judged it... imprudent when we still have not yet resolved the circumstances of Bospho's death." He bowed in deferent apology, but his voice was determined.

Lady Versenne pursed her lips thoughtfully as she stared at the captain's bowed head. "I applaud your caution, Captain, but you may return their weapons now."

Revan halted next to her chair. Dustil stood next to her, and hoped he'd get his blasters back, even if it did make the captain twitchy; all of those armed guards behind him made the spot between his shoulderblades itch horribly.

"My Lady, I must protest," Captain Morin said, raising his head to look Lady Versenne in the eye.

"My Lady, if it would make your new bodyguard feel better, we can do without our weapons," Revan said, looking back and forth between lady and bodyguard. Dustil kept his grumbling protest strictly internal, since he didn't want to precipitate a rift between Lady Versenne and her new guard.

"If you had not had your weapons when we first met," Lady Versenne said, not looking at Revan, but rather staring at Captain Morin, "I do not believe I would still be alive. I gave you an order, Captain." Durasteel command rang in her voice.

Captain Morin looked resigned, suppressed a sigh and bowed lower before going to the door, where the guard had deposited their box of weapons. Mournfully, the captain returned promptly with Revan's blades and slugthrower, and Dustil's blasters and knife.

Dustil slung his blasters and knife back on gratefully, taking comfort in their weights at his hips. Revan buckled her blades back at her waist, and returned her slugthrower to its shoulder holster. Both of them waited until Lady Versenne was seated before sitting down. Captain Morin took up station behind Lady Versenne's chair, just as Bospho used to stand. He even had the same glowering, resigned and sour expression on his face.

"Where is the third member of your crew, Captain?" Lady Versenne asked after she touched a control on her desk. "Your... navigator, yes?" Dustil felt a familiar sensation of being underwater, and spotted the shimmer in the air that showed a white-noise generator had been engaged. Bekim stepped forward to serve three cups of aromatic caffa to Dustil and Revan, placing Lady Versenne's cup at her elbow.

Revan looked at Captain Morin, hesitating. Lady Versenne reassured her, saying, "You may speak freely. Captain Morin has my full confidence and is now privy to all of my plans."

Dustil suppressed his surprised reaction; Lady Versenne had a great deal of faith and trust in the captain, which didn't seem wise, considering that Bospho had been killed by _somebody_. Somebody who had to have known Bospho's habits and activities. Although Morin might have submitted to the rigorous interrogations he'd mentioned earlier, Dustil supposed.

Revan looked just as dubious as Dustil felt, but shrugged. "He's gone undercover into House Boro, the compound Sayir has been using to house their hired mercenaries. We haven't had any further contact with him, which means he's successfully infiltrated them."

"Or dead," Captain Morin murmured, face impassive.

Dustil's heart lurched at the possibility. He didn't think Carth was dead, since he was pretty sure he'd feel something, a disturbance in the Force even if Carth wasn't a Jedi, but the words gave him a chill anyway. He felt a little surprised at the depth of his concern for his father. He hoped Carth was alive and well; if he knew his father, he was probably kicking someone's ass right now, a thought which cheered him slightly.

Revan glared at Captain Morin, lips thinning. "I doubt it. He's a hard man to kill."

Lady Versenne opened her hand, stopping the incipient squabble. "Then he has done more than our agents and Khyrohn's could do. I hope he is as successful in returning with his information."

"Me, too, Lady," Revan said fervently. "Could you please tell us what's been going on here?" She brought the mug of caffa she held to her lips and sipped. "I'm sorry, but I've had a late night, then we were chased all over Sluis Van by fake police and _then_ we were detained by your guards. I enjoyed the nap I took in your brig, but I'd like to know what's going on."

Lady Versenne nodded, eyes growing shadowed with pain and grief, her silver eyes darkening to gray. "Yes. It seems that, in buying your services, I have inadvertently involved you in the more sordid aspects of in-House fighting, for which you have my most profound apologies." Captain Morin and Bekim both looked pained at hearing the sole heiress of the Vosaryk fortune apologize to two lowly smugglers, but neither spoke.

Revan shrugged. "Danger comes with the territory and my profession, Lady. So far it's been non-lethal, but they may not be as nice the next time around. Captain Morin was just telling us about Bospho's possible murder. Just today we were captured by police who weren't police, and they charged us with murder. Imagine our surprise when we came here and were arrested by _your_ guards for the exact same thing! Since those fake policemen could've used just about any pretext to arrest us, it smacks too much of coincidence."

Lady Versenne looked thoughtful, her brow furrowing slightly. "How many were there?" Captain Morin asked.

Revan rummaged in her trouser pocket and passed the captain a data chip she had used to store a precise report she'd written on her datapad during lunch. "The details are all there, but in brief there were at least twenty of them, and they were fairly well organized. They didn't strike me as experienced covert operations agents or even police officers, but rather more like soldiers. They didn't know how to hold their captives securely."

"And you would have experience with covert ops agents?" Captain Morin asked, a skeptical brow raised as he inserted the chip into his datapad.

"One meets all sorts in my profession," Revan said with an enigmatic smile.

Dustil snorted, which, to his delight, brought a smile to Lady Versenne's lips. "I believe we shall have to take your word for it," Lady Versenne said, flicking a quelling look at Captain Morin, who looked very dubious, but his expression changed to intent concentration as he read his datapad.

Lady Versenne continued, "Bospho informed me last night that he had just finished arrangements for you, which I suppose were for the cover identity for your navigator." Revan nodded. "He said he had to go in person to receive certain reports, and asked me for permission, which I granted. He was to return in two hours, but I never saw him alive again." Her eyes welled with tears.

Bekim looked worriedly at Lady Versenne, who was struggling to maintain her composure, and took up the thread on her behalf. "We did not decide to search for Bospho for two more hours, because he may have been delayed and could not readily contact us, especially when we suspected he was going out to receive reports from our more maverick agents. He had a communicator, and he was a capable man, after all. We did not find him until hours later, and we had to resort to using the tracker that is implanted in his skull."

"Where'd you find him?" Dustil asked, watching Lady Versenne gamely trying to win the battle.

"Ironically, not far from here. On this very shipyard, in fact," Captain Morin answered, looking up from his pad.

"If he was right here, why did it take hours to find him?" Revan asked reasonably, frowning in puzzlement.

Captain Morin frowned. "We don't know if it was Bospho's intent or the killer's, but he was found in the shipyard's power generator room, where the electronic noise from the generators masked nearly everything, from surveillance devices to Bospho's tracker. We had a devil of a time boosting our receiver enough to find it through all the static. The area's now sealed off."

"How did he die?" Dustil interjected, wishing Lady Versenne wasn't there, listening to them pick the bodyguard's death apart, when it was clearly distressing her. She and Bospho must've been close.

"At first glance, Bospho was killed when one of the generators malfunctioned with a power surge, and a conduit exploded, hitting Bospho with what we estimate was probably five hundred million volts of electricity," Captain Morin said, face grim. "The current only hit him for less than a millisecond or so, but he may have survived if he were lucky. Which he wasn't, since he was also struck by the shards of the conduit housing. 

"If Bospho were any ordinary employee, we might well have written this off as an unfortunate accident, but all retainers attached to the family always have in-depth investigations conducted in the event of a suspicious death. And given the situation with Khyrohn and Sayir, not to mention Lord Vosaryk's intent to declare _kersai_, I judged it to be a rather suspicous death."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Lady," Revan said softly. "He seemed to be a dedicated man."

"Me, too," Dustil put in.

Lady Versenne mustered a small, grateful smile. "Thank you." She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "The House owes it to Bospho to find his killer and exact a price. _I_ owe it to Bospho. There will be a reckoning for whoever did this." Her eyes grew hard.

In this, at least, Dustil saw total grim agreement in both Bekim's and Captain Morin's faces. He knew he wouldn't want to be on the bad side of someone like Lady Versenne, especially when she looked like that.

"We have too many questions and not enough answers, Lady," Revan murmured, breaking the silence. "May I suggest we start by asking the man we brought in our box?"

"A man in a box?" Lady Versenne asked, raising an eyebrow.

Revan smiled thinly. "One of the men chasing after us today. I believe he's the ringleader for this particular group. Fairly low echelon, I'm afraid, but all we could come up with. He may know a bit more than the others he had under his command."

"An odd gift, but welcome," Lady Versenne said, elegant eyebrow still arched. "Where is this man now?"

Captain Morin cleared his throat. "He is currently in the medical bay, being searched for identification and clues to his origins. Lady, I'm afraid I'm itching to ask him some questions of my own. If I may be excused to attend to his interrogation?"

Lady Versenne nodded and rose smoothly. "I would also like to attend."

Revan and Dustil also rose. Dustil was itching to get some of those answers himself, and it was about time he got them.

Captain Morin's eyes bulged and he spluttered, "My Lady, this is not something a woman of your sensibilities should witness--!"

Lady Versenne fixed the captain with a stern look. "We are wasting time, Captain. Please lead the way."

Captain Morin glanced at Bekim, his look clearly saying, _Hey, give me a hand here!_ Bekim shook his head and shrugged, _There's no stopping her when she's like this._ Captain Morin sighed, bowed and led the way to the side door Dustil had seen the guard tow the crate to.

The side room turned out to be a harshly-lit, fully-accoutered medical bay, with a large bacta tank taking up much of the space, next to two pallets. A medical droid stood nearby, monitoring the vital signs of the fake police sergeant Revan and Dustil had captured. Two guards stood just inside the door, watching the prisoner alertly. The rest of the walls were taken up with vidscreens and monitors.

The man had already been strapped onto one of the pallets, soft restraints holding his hands and feet immobile, and a wide, padded strap had been tied across his broad chest. His uniform had been stripped off and he now only wore a gown, similar to those hospital patients wore. He stank of sweat, making Dustil wrinkle his nose.

The medical droid had attached wires to the man's chest and forehead to monitors, so that they could monitor his physiological reactions to questions, Dustil supposed. There hadn't been any such sophistication in the interrogations _he'd_ had to do, just crude application of pain until the victim broke down and spilled his guts. Sometimes literally. Very messily literally. He shivered and shook off the memories, prompting a concerned look from Revan.

"You okay?" Revan whispered, peering up at him.

Dustil nodded, exhaling hugely. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just... bad memories."

Revan's mouth made an _O_ of understanding. "Korriban?" she whispered sympathetically.

"Yeah." Dustil crossed his arms on his chest, suddenly feeling cold in the room. He didn't want to remember the things he'd done there, but the harsh antiseptic smells brought back the memories with a vengeance, even if this brightly-lit space didn't resemble the rough, dark walls of the Sith Academy's interrogation room.

"You wanna sit this out? There's no shame in it if you do," Revan offered.

Dustil shook his head, rubbing at his face, trying to push the memories away. "Nah, I'll be okay."

Revan looked at him carefully, then nodded. "Alright." She turned to Captain Morin and asked, "Why are we in here and not in an interrogation room?" She looked pointedly around and waved her hand at the small space.

Captain Morin shot her a dry, amused look. "We are not a police station, lady, so we are not furnished with one of those. Whatever outrageous stories about the Sluis Van Houses you may have heard, we don't torture those who work for our commercial rivals for secrets. We'll just have to make do."

"Er, does this mean you don't have any truth serum?" Revan asked dubiously.

Bekim had seated Lady Versenne on the room's only chair, where she was listening and watching with interest, her eyes turning hard when they fell on the sergeant. "We do, actually, although there is not much use for it," she said with a shrug.

Revan and Dustil moved into a corner to stay out of the way as Captain Morin took down a small box from a high shelf full of medications, and brought out an adhesive strip of patches and some hypodermics that seemed to gleam with a cruel light. He laid them on a waiting tray next to the sergeant's pallet. Peeling off a patch, Captain Morin applied it to the man's arm. The captain looked impatiently at his chrono as he waited, then moved to peel the patch off. A huge red welt was revealed.

Captain Morin cursed under his breath. "Damn. The man either has a natural allergic reaction to truth serum, or he's been subjected to anaphylaxes," he growled, looking like he wanted to spit. "No policeman would have a reason to receive such conditioning, and the procedure itself takes a great deal of credits."

One of the guards interjected, "Captain, our database and inquiries with the police have turned up neither hide nor hair of this man. He's definitely not a police officer."

Lady Versenne looked disappointed. "Does this mean truth serum will not be effective on this man?"

"No. It would kill him," Captain Morin said, disgusted.

Lady Versenne's eyes narrowed. "Are there no other ways, or any other drugs that can be used?"

Captain Morin held up the strip of patches. "These test for all the major truth serum anaphylaxes, I'm afraid. None of our other serums or similar drugs would work. At best they would induce a violent allergic reaction. At worst, he dies. Unless you wish us to use torture, my Lady?" He sounded wistful.

Lady Versenne shook her head. "No torture," she said decisively.

Captain Morin sighed gustily. "Aye, well. Torture-induced confessions are unreliable, anyway."

Dustil decided not to volunteer his expertise, although a few applications of Force lightning might get the man to talk... It was probably just as well he couldn't, since to do so was to break his cover, and he doubted Revan would let him. He sighed inwardly.

"I don't suppose you have a supply of gammahydroxybutyrate?" Revan piped up.

Captain Morin and Lady Versenne stared at her, as if they'd forgotten she was in the room.

"I don't know. ME-24, do we?" Captain Morin asked the droid.

"Affirmative. There is a small supply of gammahydroxybutyrate in my stores," ME-24 answered.

"What is it?" Lady Versenne asked.

"It's a drug that causes sedation and induces compliance, Lady," Revan replied. "It's a rather nefarious pharmaceutical that's seen widespread criminal use, but it may help circumvent the man's anaphylaxes."

Both Lady Versenne and Captain Morin raised their eyebrows at this tidbit; Dustil was hard put not to do the same. Revan simply shrugged.

As Captain Morin turned to the droid, Dustil leaned down and whispered into Revan's ear," Just what does a nefarious criminal use gamma-wassit for?"

"Cowards use it, but I believe it only works on humans. They spike their victim's drink or food with it, and it makes the victim very compliant, euphoric, induces poor judgement, and it causes memory loss. I leave it to your imagination just why a criminal would want this," Revan murmured back.

Dustil could think of several things off the top of his head, none of them pleasant and all of them illegal. "Oh."

The medical droid filled a syringe and pressed it into the sergeant's arm. "It will take a moment to take effect," it said, stepping back.

Captain Morin took out a datapad and waited in fuming impatience. Lady Versenne settled back in her chair to wait more patiently, Bekim standing behind her with a look of distaste on his face at the proceedings. The guards stood impassively.

"Revive him," Captain Morin commanded curtly, when a few minutes had elapsed.

The droid injected a stim into the sergeant's arm. After another moment, the sergeant's eyes fluttered, and the monitors showed an increased pulse.

The sergeant opened his eyes and blinked, and his pupils, Dustil noted, were constricted. He looked blearily around at the tableau, and didn't seem alarmed that he was strapped down to a pallet and nearly naked. In fact, a soft, foolish smile stretched his lips. Dustil shifted uncomfortably; the sergeant's reaction was similar to that of someone under the effects of Force compulsion, although Force-compelled sentients didn't usually smile.

"What is your name?" Captain Morin asked softly, quietly, so that he wouldn't alarm the sergeant.

The sergeant frowned, but the drug made his face slacken again. "Sergeant Pluri Mogar, sir, serial number 1216780112, sir!" His right hand pulled at its restraint, as though he intended to salute.

Captain Morin raised his eyebrows at this response. "What are you doing here, soldier? Why are you here?" he asked, putting a little stern command into his voice. It looked like the sergeant might well respond to this different manner of questioning.

"Sir, I was just following orders. Don't you know?" Mogar asked, a furrow appearing on his forehead, despite the drug.

"No, I don't have the latest orders," Captain Morin improvised. "I was ordered to report to you," he continued, his tone changing from command to soldierly deference.

"Oh." The furrow on the sergeant's forehead faded. "You're not in the right uniform," he complained, looking at Captain Morin and blinking.

"Sorry. What uniform should I be wearing?" Captain Morin asked persuasively.

"Police uniform. Blue and silver. Hey, where's mine?" Mogar said plaintively, seeming to notice the state of undress he was in for the first time, though he still was not alarmed that he was restrained.

"It had to be cleaned," Captain Morin replied shortly. "What am I supposed to do with a police uniform?"

"Oh, yeah." Mogar frowned, as if he were having trouble concentrating or remembering. "You're supposed to use it to get these smugglers. Three of them, two men and a woman. I'm supposed to be out there, trying to find them..." Mogar tugged at the restraints, frowning again.

"Why do we need to find them?" Captain Morin continued, patient and careful now that Mogar seemed cooperative.

"Dunno. Orders. Gotta obey orders. Or else." Mogar pulled at his restraints more frantically. He seemed to be getting more and more distressed at the thought of not obeying orders. Whatever punishment Mogar envisioned must be painful, to judge by the heightened heart rate, blood pressure and perspiration Dustil saw on the monitors, beating even the drug's euphoric effect.

"Or else what?" asked the captain curiously.

Mogar shivered. "You don' wanna know. Hadda get rid of the body of the poor sucker who failed last time..." He shuddered. "Cooked..." he muttered.

Dustil frowned. Cooked? Could the sergeant mean cooked... as in charred? He glanced down at Revan, whose brow was wrinkled in thought as she stared at Mogar. Revan's eyes met Dustil's; Dustil nodded slightly at the question in her eyes. It definitely sounded like the effects of Force lightning. _Shit, a Dark Jedi running around loose on Sluis Van... Father's not gonna be happy about that when he hears..._

"How much backup do we have?" Captain Morin asked, abandoning that line of questioning. "And where are we staying?"

"We're just a small troop, only fifty of us, attached to Sluis Van. Small, split up into groups so that no one can find us... We don' stay anywhere for long, always moving, always moving... Wanna go _home_!" Mogar added plaintively. His heart rate had slowed down, and his blood pressure had dropped back to normal, now that Captain Morin wasn't asking him about cooked bodies.

"Where's home?"

"Home's home... Home's where the heart is." Mogar giggled, a strange and oddly disturbing sound, coming from such a large man.

Revan shook her head. Dustil wondered if she was as frustrated as he was at not being able to participate in the interrogation.

"Who's our commanding officer, and where is he?" Captain Morin said, getting Mogar's mind and the questioning back on track.

"Dunno. We get our orders by comm, no visual, just audio, the officious, pompous bastard." Mogar's face scrunched into a scowl before the drug made him smile foolishly again. "Dunno who he is, don' care. Don' wanna know. Don' wanna be cooked..." He shuddered again.

"What is our purpose here?" Captain Morin asked, but his tone of voice suggested he didn't think he would get a more detailed response than the usual "orders".

"Dunno. Orders," Mogar repeated cheerfully.

Captain Morin sighed and shook his head. "How was he cooked, anyway?" he asked skeptically.

"Dunno, don' wanna know. You don' wanna know, either."

Captain Morin sighed again in frustrated annoyance. "Do you know who those people are, the ones we're supposed to catch?"

"Yeah," Mogar said, brow furrowing as he tried to remember through the drug haze. "Smugglers. No one'll miss'em. Wanna question'em." He shrugged as much as a man could in tight restraints.

"Question them? What for?" Captain Morin asked, as-if casual.

"Dunno. Messed up plans. Gotta get rid'em." Mogar scowled again, this time in an effort to remember.

"What plans?" Captain Morin insisted.

"Dunno. Orders." Mogar shrugged. "Couldn't find the scarred man. Looked all over. Can't be hard to find, but couldn't."

Shit, were they looking for his father, too? Revan stiffened at that, looking deeply worried and patently unhappy. Dustil frowned. They had no way of warning Carth about this new development that Dustil knew of. His father might walk straight out of Sayir right into an ambush or a trap. Carth would be safe in his latest disguise, at least from fake policemen if not from Sayir agents, but once he took it off and became Nasi again, he would be found, and that scarred persona was pretty distinctive.

Dustil exchanged worried looks with Revan. All of this on top of the everpresent danger that Carth would be caught and revealed made Dustil's lunch sit like a lump of lead in his stomach. He found himself, to his surprise, hoping fervently his father was alright. He felt tendrils of the Force weave out from Revan, then snap back, as if she had just tried to find Carth again, but stopped her attention from wandering with an effort.

Captain Morin's lips thinned and his jaw clenched until a muscle jumped. He turned to the droid and said, "Sedate him."

The droid inserted another syringe into the sergeant's arm, and the sergeant's eyes drooped, body slumping in his restraints.

"Well, that was singularly useless," Captain Morin grumbled disgruntledly. "Come, let us go out into someplace more comfortable and less cramped."

Lady Versenne nodded and rose, the first to leave the room, followed faithfully by Bekim. Captain Morin led Revan and Dustil, leaving the droid and the two guards to watch over the slumbering sergeant.

They all trooped out of the cramped medical bay, and Lady Versenne sat back down at her desk, Revan and Dustil arranging themselves in front of her, once more under the white noise field. "Well, it seems your guess about the sergeant and perhaps his command being soldiers turned out to be correct," Lady Versenne said as she sat back in her chair, the fingers of one hand tucked under her chin in thought.

"Aye. Although we didn't get as much out of him as I would've liked," Captain Morin grumped. "Their operational security is excellent, and even if we managed to catch the rest of the sergeant's group, there are others out there, scattered into cells. And we still don't know what they're doing here, and why."

"I do not like this. This looks to be more and more like a plot with conspirators," Lady Versenne murmured. "The question is why they have targeted me, and thus, you." She waved a hand at Revan and Dustil.

"Obviously because we're getting close to... something," Revan said. "We've done several things to help you. The question is how they knew."

"Aye. My Lady, I hesitate to say this with little or no evidence to support my theory, but it seems we may have a traitor in our ranks," Captain Morin said unhappily.

Lady Versenne's brows crimped. "Do you have a list of suspects?" She wasn't denying or disagreeing with the captain's hypothesis, which told Dustil she had had the same thought herself.

"No. At least, not yet," Captain Morin said. "Unfortunately, most of our employees here have both the knowledge and the ability to do things like doctor logs and set a trap to cause a power surge. I will work on finding camera logs for the relevant time, and check possible exits and entrances into the room." The dejected look on his face said that he'd already done this and hadn't found anything.

"Since the live one can't speak," Revan said slowly, "perhaps we should consult the dead."

"You mean... Bospho?" Captain Morin said, surprised. "What do you hope to find? The power overload destroyed the consoles, so there are no logs for you to see. A complete autopsy has already been done, and there was nothing unusual in it."

Revan shrugged. "I don't know yet. But if Bospho's body has not yet been prepared, I would like to see it. With your permission, Lady?" she asked, turning to Lady Versenne.

"Are you a forensic pathologist in your spare time, Captain?" Captain Morin asked sardonically, raising an eyebrow.

Revan shrugged, taking no apparent umbrage at the captain's tone. "I'm familiar with homicides and killings and poisonings. In my line of work, one sees a bit of everything."

Captain Morin raised his other eyebrow at this, as if he were trying to decide if Revan had seen them... or _done_ them.

Suppressing a smirk, Revan continued, "Meaning no disrespect, unless you turn to the Sluis Van police, you don't have much experience in investigating murders, I think." She waited expectantly, but Captain Morin's glower said he couldn't deny it. "Or do you actually have a forensic pathologist on call?"

Captain Morin's deepening glower was enough to tell Dustil that they didn't.

"There's something to be said for a fresh pair of eyes, Captain Morin," Lady Versenne said thoughtfully.

Captain Morin shrugged after a moment. "I suppose there's no harm in it," he growled. "Bospho, may he rest well, is beyond caring."

Lady Versenne looked pained at the captain's bald and blunt statement, but said nothing save, "I... see no objection. Captain Morin, please take them if they wish it." She was about to add more, but a red light blinked on her desk, distracting her. She frowned and murmured an _Excuse me_ to Revan and Dustil.

Revan and Dustil rose from their seats, and Captain Morin led them away a few steps to give her privacy. Dustil watched Lady Versenne take a holo transmission, but was unable to hear anything because of the white noise field still in effect around the desk. Lady Versenne looked more and more unhappy as she listened and spoke, though, which didn't seem to bode well. She waved the holo and the field off as she looked back up at the three of them.

"I'm afraid I cannot host the both of you properly at the moment," Lady Versenne said resignedly. "I'm afraid some of today's appointments cannot be postponed, as they are all Bazaar-related commissions and contracts, and hence are time sensitive." She brightened slightly. "I hope to join you later, however, and listen to your findings. Perhaps you might stay for dinner, to make up for your morning's chase?"

_Damn._ Dustil tried to keep the disappointment off his face. He'd wanted to try to talk to Lady Versenne, although he was damned if he knew what to talk about, other than to give his condolences on her bodyguard's death. He'd rather spend some time with Lady Versenne, even if it was all awkward and in front of witnesses, than looking at the unhandsome bodyguard's dead body. He tried to console himself with the fact that there were entirely too many duennas in the large office, anyway. It wasn't very comforting, though. Still, there was dinner to look forward to.

"We would be honored, Lady," Revan said with a bow. Dustil hastily followed suit, his own bow a bit clumsier.

Lady Versenne smiled. "I'm glad." Her eyes met Dustil's and she suddenly looked down at her console. A slow heat crept over Dustil's cheeks, and he stared down at his boots, hoping the pinkness in Lady Versenne's face wasn't his imagination.

Captain Morin cleared his throat and held out an arm wordlessly to usher them out the door, the sooner the better, the expression on his face said. Revan smirked and moved on, followed by Dustil. A guard peeled off from the wall at Captain Morin's summons to follow. Dustil wondered what Revan was up to now, feeling a pang as he left Lady Versenne's presence.

He wondered if he had imagined her smile as he'd straightened up from his bow. He hoped they really would see her at dinner. Alas, there were entirely too damned many guards around. And what would he say, anyway? _Sorry your bodyguard died... uh, the view of space from your office is really cool..._ He shook his head mentally in disgust. He could throw Force lightning, fight with and throw his lightsaber--when he still had one--he was a fair expert at blasters and blades, but he couldn't even think of how to talk to a girl. Selene had done most of the talking for him.

Maybe he should ask his father for pointers... Dustil's lips puffed slightly in a rueful laugh. He never thought he'd see the day he would ever contemplate doing that, he mused as he glanced at Revan. His father must've had something, though, to have married his mother and then taken up with Revan, however much he hated the idea of his father involved with another woman.

But Revan, taking all her considerable history aside, _was_ a beautiful woman, that couldn't be denied. It would probably make things less complicated if she were ugly, or just had an unpleasant personality, but she wasn't and she didn't. She was a beautiful woman and she was fun to be around, except he wasn't, dammit, _supposed_ to _like_ the damned former Dark Lord of the Sith.

Sighing inwardly, he trudged after Captain Morin. _Father has all the luck... the lucky bastard..._ he couldn't help thinking in rueful and grudging admiration.

Dustil walked beside Revan as they moved down the corridor, moving to the other end of it, where a set of small, unprepossessing doors were unlocked by Captain Morin's palm scan. No guards were present, but another medical droid was inside. The room was another brightly-lit sickbay, much larger than Lady Versenne's, with six bacta tanks, six currently empty pallets and large medical vidscreens and monitors. Dustil guessed it was supposed to serve this entire section of the shipyard, hence the large size. Similar sickbays must be scattered all over the shipyard.

Captain Morin left instructions with the medical droid to assist Revan and Dustil with their inquiries before turning back to them. "I don't believe you'll find anything on Bospho's body, since a full autopsy has already been done, though you are, of course, welcome to try. The scene itself turned up not so much as a hair, an impossibility unless someone deliberately sweeped everything, which leads me to believe the killer--and I think we should assume there really _is_ one--was an expert, since he cleaned up and covered his tracks so well," he said dejectedly.

"May we see the area you found him in later?" Revan asked.

Captain Morin shrugged. "If you like, although I don't see why you'd be so interested, unless you have a morbid fascination with homicides and their crime scenes. The guard outside will guide you around and can contact me. I'll leave instructions with him to take you there when you like. I must go and study this report you did and draw up a list of suspects and start the damned hunt. Which is going to be damned messy." He shook his head before nodding at them and turning on his heel to leave.

Dustil waited until the doors had closed to ask, "What do you expect to find? Wouldn't the autopsy they did have everything in it already?"

Revan shrugged. "I don't know. I may well find nothing that hasn't already been found. But first we have to ask the right questions." She glanced at him. "You sure you want to sit in for this? It's not going to be pretty, though it _will_, I think, be rather educational." She reached into her pocket and turned on the white noise generator.

Dustil raised his eyebrows at her. "Just what do _you_ know about murder investigations, anyway?"

Grimacing, Revan walked over to the shiny durasteel door that was the sickbay's freezer, the white noise field following her. "I actually had to investigate two murders, one of them on Dantooine, the other on Manaan."

"Really?" Dustil said as he followed her, his interest piqued despite himself. "What happened?"

"The victim deserved it, really, but the things he did shouldn't have been grounds for murder," Revan said, taking a pair of gloves the medical droid helpfully handed to her, and pulling them on with loud snaps. "Both of the victim's killers had been hurt in some way by him, so they apparently both had the same bright idea to murder him, on the same day, at almost the exact same moment. Both tried to blame the other, but they were both guilty, and both of them were arrested. Unfortunately, I don't think Bospho's murder will be as easy to solve."

Dustil crossed his arms on his chest. "Am I going to have to do stuff like that, too? Murder investigations?"

Revan nodded. "Maybe. A Jedi does whatever needs doing, really. If it's an investigation you have to do, there are usually circumstances surrounding it that have to also be taken into account. Things are rarely so black and white out there in the galaxy, and the first conclusion you reach may not be the correct one, or even the most complete. Ask Jolee about Sunry sometime when we get back."

As Dustil chewed over this bit of advice, Revan opened the freezer door and maneuvered a pallet out of it, using its repulsorlift system. Curls and billows of white mist poured out, wispy fingers that streamed out with the pallet's motion as if trying to take it back. The cold puffed against Dustil's skin, making him shiver. The bright lights of the sickbay illuminated the craggy planes of Bospho's face harshly. Dustil winced at the huge, ugly wound on Bospho's head.

Bospho had been a bit on the ugly side in life, and death hadn't improved his looks any, Dustil decided. He'd seen dead bodies before, of course, all of them arrayed much more messily than the body on the pallet before him, but the neat state of Bospho's corpse left no illusions as to whether he was dead or not.

The bodyguard looked quite dead. The autopsy had left neat sutures in a Y-shaped incision on his body, the two arms starting at his shoulders and moving down to meet at the lower end of his breastbone, the third line extending down the abdomen to his crotch. Bospho's head had been shaved, so that Dustil could see the line of another incision that started behind one ear, across the top of his head to end at the back of his other ear. Dustil could only be glad that everything had been put back into their proper places and sewn back up. As it was, his stomach heaved uneasily, and he took a discreet glance around to find a suitable receptacle, if it got too much for him.

Revan was examining the large burn marks on Bospho's skin, which must've been caused by the electrical shocks from the power surge, heating and melting metallic objects. Dustil recognized the outlines of knives and blasters.

There was a large, messy gash that mutilated Bospho's face, extending from the orbit of his right eye to the nose, where the bone had been effectively caved in by some edged object. The force of the debris must have been incredible, to be able to penetrate the skull, Dustil speculated. The edges of the injury were purple with clotted blood, and slightly burnt. The wound didn't improve the man's looks any.

There were several other gash wounds scattered on Bospho's body, the severity of these ranging from small burns to deep penetration injuries, most of them on Bospho's upper body, centered on his torso. Most of the wounds were deep enough to cause a great deal of pain, and possibly life-threatening, especially the one near Bospho's heart, and the two in his lungs, but it was probably the head wound that'd killed him instantly, if the electrocution hadn't.

Bospho's right hand was badly burned, the flesh blackened and red, probably the point where the electrical current had entered his body. Revan looked at the bottom of Bospho's right foot, drawing Dustil's attention to it, which was also charred and blackened, likely where the electricity had exited and grounded into the floor.

Revan peered at the medical droid's nameplate. "ME-12, have scans been taken of Bospho's body?" she asked.

ME-12 nodded its silver, lens-bedecked round head. "Affirmative. The subject, designation: Bospho, has been measured, weighed and scanned."

"Find anything unusual?" Revan asked as she peered at Bospho's head wound.

"Please state your preference for concise or verbose explanations," said ME-12.

"Uh, verbose, and keep the medical terminology to a minimum," Revan ordered when she straightened up.

The droid moved over to one of the blank vidscreens, its metal feet clanking on the floor, and asked, "What do you wish to know?"

Revan moved the pallet with Bospho's body back into the freezer and closed the door on it. Dustil was relieved. "Estimated time of death?"

"The degree of rigor mortis, combined with the stage of lividity indicates the subject died approximately twelve hours ago. The subject's body temperature readings at the scene of the crime matched the ambient temperature of the room." The droid interfaced with the vidscreen's dataports, and showed a picture of Bospho's body, showing where the blood had accumulated and clotted after death. The back and buttocks showed pale blotches where they had pressed against the floor; the rest was dark purple.

"What was the ambient temperature of the room?" Dustil asked.

"Captain Morin's report indicated a cool environment, as would be expected of cool ventilation in the power generator room," ME-12 answered.

Revan shook her head. "We can't rely on body temperature once it's reached ambient levels. Tell me about the stage of rigor mortis the body was found in."

"Rigor mortis was in its complete stages by the time the subject was brought in. The right side of the subject's body showed signs of localized rigor mortis, and differing levels of adenosine triphosphate in those muscles confirm that the electrical current passed through that side of his body." The droid highlighted the right side of Bospho's body, showing where the muscles had spasmed when the electrical current had passed through it.

Dustil raised his brows at Revan quizzically. "He means the body's right side had rigor mortis long before the rest, because of the muscular spasms electrocution causes," Revan explained.

Scratching his head, Dustil said, "Sounds like he was electrocuted to death to me."

"Maybe. What about his wounds?" Revan asked the droid. "Where they inflicted before or after the electrocution?"

"Examination of the subject's wounds showed minimal blood and serum accumulation, and hemorrhaging around and in the injuries, indicating the subject was alive at the time they were caused. Coup and contrecoup injuries, that is, impacts that caused contusions of the brain, also indicate the subject was alive at the time the head wound was inflicted," ME-12 said, showing in glowing circles all the gash wounds on Bospho's body on the vidscreen, the purple areas showing the bruising around the wounds clearly. Dustil was glad lunch was a long time ago.

"Is there trace evidence of whatever inflicted them?" Revan asked as she peered at the vidscreen.

The droid nodded. "Affirmative. Shards and pieces of plasteel power conduit casing, housing and insulation were removed from the subject's clothes and injuries."

"Well, so much for the obvious injuries," Revan said. "Was death caused by electrocution or the head trauma?"

"Since there were blood hemorrhages around the wounds the subject received, the subject's death was caused by blunt force trauma to the brain, although microscopic scans show extensive burns had affected the subject's internal organs from the electrocution." ME-12 showed the internal organs on the vidscreen, showing where the electrical current had cooked everything in its path. "It is possible these internal burns would have killed the subject if the head wound had not."

"Has a microscopic scan of Bospho's body been done?" Revan asked, with the manner of one ticking off items on an internal checklist.

"Why're you asking these things?" Dustil interjected. "It sounds pretty straightforward to me."

"Remember what I said about conclusions not necessarily being complete?" Revan said. "Just because it _looked_ like Bospho had died from electrocution and a head wound doesn't mean that's all that happened."

The droid interrupted, "Microscopic scans indicate nothing unusual."

Revan frowned. "Toxicological report?"

"Toxicology results show nothing unusual, except for a miniscule quantity of metabolites in the subject's brain."

Revan pounced on this detail like a tuk'ata on a fresh nerf steak. "Metabolites? Metabolites of what?"

"The metabolites resemble those left behind by certain pain medications," the droid continued.

"Did Bospho take any of these pain medications?" Revan asked, eyes intent.

The droid elaborated. "The records show the subject was a human in excellent physical health and condition, and recovered quickly from his wounds of a few days ago."

A few days ago... Had it been that long since they'd rescued Lady Versenne from her kidnappers? Lady Versenne had told Dustil Bospho had been beaten by them severely enough for him to hover near death.

"However," the droid continued, "complaints of lingering pain from certain severe injuries the subject was still recovering from prompted one of my colleagues to prescribe a common painkiller. This medication is quickly metabolized and leaves very little evidence in the bloodstream."

Revan slumped, shoulders drooping in defeat. "Damn."

Dustil frowned. The words 'painkiller' and 'quickly metabolized' were ringing a dimly-heard bell in his head.

Revan glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. "Is there something wrong?" she asked in mild concern.

Dustil shook his head. "No, I'm just trying to remember something." He moved off, away from the droid, Revan following closely, so that the droid was no longer encompassed within the white noise field.

"What?" Revan asked, when they had halted several paces away.

"I think I'm remembering something from some lessons on Korriban..." Dustil said, trying to shake the memory into view. It was odd, but he found it very easy to talk to Revan about Korriban and the Sith Academy. Maybe it was because she didn't make him feel guilty about it.

Revan's eyes sharpened. "Sith alchemy? Poisons, maybe?"

"Yeah... I can't quite remember, but it was something that broke down in the body really, really fast, and you can't hardly find it in the blood anymore after a little while," Dustil said. "It was something called, uh, something-acra." He hadn't really paid close attention to those particular classes, since they hadn't favored aggressive attacks. Poisons and such things seemed cowardly, anyway, and much too impersonal.

Revan thought for a few moments. "Was it _kuylacra_?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think so..." Dustil raised an eyebrow. "Do you know it?"

"No, not the poison. At least, if I did, I don't remember. It means 'agony' in the ancient Sith language," Revan said. "What do you remember about it?"

Dustil frowned as he tried to remember. "Well, it could be absorbed through the skin, and it paralyzes all the muscles, even the ones you use to breathe. Even if someone was fast enough to find it, it would look just like the stuff left over from painkillers. It's, uh, not pleasant to die from."

"If it's really a Sith poison, then I'm not surprised," Revan said dryly. "So death occurs by asphyxia?" she asked slowly.

"Yeah." Dustil nodded.

"ME-12, what were the results of the blood tests?" Revan asked the droid when she'd moved back towards it.

The droid waved its arms in a shrug. "Blood tests done on the subject were inconclusive, with no unusual findings. The blood appears normal in a body at this stage of death, the expected purple, neither bright red, indicating a metabolic poison, such as cyanide or carbon monoxide, was not present."

"Are there indications of asphyxia?" Revan asked.

"There are indications of damage to the respiratory center of the brain," the droid agreed. "However, this damage may have been caused by the electrical current, and death, in any case, occurred before this could happen."

"Could a more comprehensive test of these metabolites you found be done?" Revan asked. "How long would it take?"

"A confirmatory test will take approximately three hours," ME-12 said. "Gas chromatography and mass spectrometry will be the first test."

"Whatever. Just tell me if you can really determine if those metabolites are really from a painkiller or something else," Revan said, in the face of the droid's jargon.

"What do you think happened?" Dustil asked when the droid had moved off to conduct the tests. "Do you think someone poisoned Bospho and set his body up while he was helpless to be electrocuted?"

"That's one theory," Revan said. "If it was a contact poison, it was done by someone Bospho knew. He wouldn't let just anyone get that close to him. Someone he knew, maybe an agent of his, or someone who knew he would be in that room may have touched him, perhaps on his right hand, so that the electricity would burn the skin away, destroying the evidence. Then the poison paralyzed Bospho, just enough to make him talk, if it causes agonizing pain. That might've been how they knew about us."

"I'm not sure if it really was _kuylacra_, though," Dustil said dubiously. "It's a big galaxy... it could've been another poison that does the same thing."

Revan sighed. "I know. And who knows how far and wide the Sith dispersed their tools? Although I'm bothered by what that sergeant said about cooked bodies..."

That was indeed a worrying thought. "Uh... how are we going to explain this to Lady Versenne?" Dustil asked. He really, really didn't want Lady Versenne to know how he'd come by his knowledge.

"We don't. It's enough that we've pointed out this possibility. We can let Captain Morin handle it now, though we really can't tell her about our suspicions that there's a Dark Jedi running around," Revan said reassuringly, which made Dustil nearly limp with relief, except for the part about a Dark Jedi. She peeled off her gloves and dumped them into the disposer, then turned off her white noise generator. "Come on, I want to take a look at this power generator room. Bospho wouldn't have gone to such a place without reason, especially since he knew surveillance devices wouldn't work in there."

Dustil followed closely, eager to get out of that antiseptic-smelling room. When they stepped out, he was surprised to see the guard extend a datapad to Revan.

"My Lady wishes to speak with you," the guard said tersely to Revan.

Revan thumbed the datapad on, Dustil leaning over her shoulder to look. The note told them Lady Versenne was in her office, waiting for them. Dustil glanced at his chrono, and was startled to see how much time had passed; it was nearly time for dinner.

The guard led them back down the hall to Lady Versenne's office, where they saw Lady Versenne seated at her desk. Captain Morin wasn't in attendance, though, probably still doing the legwork for the investigation. Dustil shook off the memories of Bospho's horrid corpse and brightened up at the sight of Lady Versenne. It helped that her office was so beautiful, worlds away from that sterile room.

Lady Versenne beckoned them to sit at the chairs still pulled up to her desk. "Have you found anything of note?" she asked, pushing aside a pile of datapads to focus her attention on them.

"We may have found evidence poison had been used," Revan said carefully, when she had sat down.

"Oh?" Lady Versenne prompted.

"The toxicological test showed some metabolites that may or may not have come from Bospho's pain medication," Revan replied.

Lady Versenne frowned. "Really. Why was this not picked up in the report?" she asked, clasping her hands on the desk.

"The metabolites closely resemble those left from a painkiller Bospho had been taking, so it wasn't marked as unusual," Revan said. "I only stumbled upon it by accident," she lied smoothly.

"I see." Lady Versenne's brows crimped. "This seems to shed yet a different light upon Bospho's murder." Bekim leaned down and whispered something into Lady Versenne's ear; she brightened slightly, forcing a smile and throwing off her dark mood. "But let us speak of this later, I have been informed dinner is ready."

Lady Versenne rose, prompting Revan and Dustil to do the same, and walked towards the door, followed by Bekim. "Come, perhaps a walk along our atrium would serve to wash this bitter taste out of our mouths." She sighed as six guards peeled off from the walls to surround them. "If we can see the sights through my screen of guards," she commented dryly.

Revan grinned. "Oh, it's not so bad." She made a point of examining their guards, all of whom endured the scrutiny impassively. "It could be worse. They could be _ugly_ guards. They're rather handsome, at least."

Several of the guards' impassive faces flushed, undermining their composure.

Lady Versenne hid her smile with one hand when Dustil rolled his eyes. "Indeed. I suppose I should be grateful," she said, her eyes alight with humor.

Dustil finally managed to find the courage to venture a conversational gambit. "So, uh, this atrium... what is it?" he asked, mentally cursing his stammer.

"One of my ancestors built it here, saying that there is no reason one cannot have the beautiful within the functional. Many of our employees go there for their breaks, but the House Heads have a special view reserved for themselves as a dining area," Lady Versenne explained, smiling.

The smile made Dustil's heart turn over, and he couldn't help the grin that stretched his face in response. _Damn all the chaperones around..._

They had been moving down the corridor and turning into a different one as they talked. The utilitarian corridors here were softened with carpet, and though they were not as thick as the one in Lady Versenne's office, they were still thick enough to make the sounds of their footsteps less harsh. There was the scent of spices here, too, that chased away the otherwise metallic smell of the recycled air.

Their small procession halted when the corridor led out onto the observation deck of a large space, one as large as one of the regular docking bays of the station. The deck ran all along three sides, high above a green and colorful profusion of plants and trees. A huge skylight that simulated the direct light of the sun at high noon lanced down into the forest. Here and there Dustil could see sudden flashes of color as birds flapped and flew around, the first sign of animal life he'd yet seen on Sluis Van, other than the vermin he'd heard in the sewers under House Khyrohn.

The golden radiance lent an idyllic cast to the picture. An artistic waterfall fell down one entire side of the atrium, tumbling merrily down rocks that looked amazingly real, like the side of a mountain. The music of the falling water filled the vast space, but not enough that they had to shout to be heard. Dustil could see more decks lower down, and sentients in Vosaryk livery sat at tables, taking their ease as they admired the view. A brilliant melding of viewscreens and holos made it seem as if it were open sky above them, complete with clouds swirling lazily above in random patterns.

"Oh, my," Revan breathed in astonishment.

Dustil could only agree with Revan's sentiment. It should have been jarring and incongruous, seeing such a natural scene on an orbital shipyard, but the architecture managed to blend in with the artificial environment. "Are those real birds?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," Lady Versenne said, smiling at their reactions. "It costs quite a good deal of credits to maintain, but I think it is worth it. I come here everyday to simply watch for a while."

"Wow. It's... it's beautiful," Dustil said softly, mesmerized.

"My Lady!" came a hail from behind them. Dustil turned to see Captain Morin briskly walking towards them. All Dustil could think was, _Oh, no, not another damned chaperone..._

"Captain," Lady Versenne said in greeting when the captain had reached them.

"My Lady," Captain Morin bowed before straightening up and giving Revan and Dustil polite nods. "I believe I have some more information, thanks to the extra wrinkle Captain Kera'al revealed."

Lady Versenne sighed. Dustil could only share her frustration. So much for a pleasant dinner... It looked like it was going to be marred with shop talk. Bekim frowned, as if he didn't approve of this interruption either.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your meal, Lady." Captain Morin bowed again, lower, seeming to realize he may have stepped into a social gaffe in his eagerness.

"No apologies are necessary, Captain," Lady Versenne said. "The sooner we solve this mystery, the sooner we can all rest easy. Come, join us for dinner, and we shall speak of it while we are waiting."

Captain Morin bowed again, clearly relieved. "I am honored, Lady."

Lady Versenne led them to the other end of the observation deck, into a high-ceilinged room that looked out over the small forest. Like her office, the room also showed a vast panorama of space. Two guards flanked the door, bowing as Lady Versenne swept past. Her squad of six guards spread out to stand at the walls once they were inside. The plush carpet silenced their footfalls almost entirely as Bekim took the lead, moving towards a large table near the viewscreens, dwarfed by the large room. Large durasteel columns supported the ceiling, hung with the Vosaryk logo done in precious gems and holo sculptures.

As they walked across the large room, Dustil's attention was taken up with watching Lady Versenne and the magnificent view of space. His attention was suddenly wrenched away, and he looked up instinctively, the Force a sudden wash of cold water down his spine. To his horror, one of the massive durasteel columns was twisting and falling, and he watched, helpless in the grip of a peculiar, time-dilated awareness as it fell majestically in slow motion, pulling down the viewscreens and support beams with it. His hearing was muffled and filled with the roaring of his blood, but he could still hear himself screaming and Revan's high-pitched yells through it.

Dustil turned in a nightmarish state of fear, rage, panic and confusion towards Lady Versenne, and tackled her, throwing them both to the side. His fear-heightened senses caught crystal-clear snapshots of every sensation, no matter how irrelevant: the feel of fine, smooth silk under his hands, the smell of her perfume, reminiscent of sunlight on ocean beaches, the warmth and softness of her body, the tickling of her hair on the skin of his face...

Then something slammed into his right arm, pain blossoming in sharp, fiery tendrils that shot up and down his arm, and he screamed hoarsely. There was a loud crack and boom that he could only hear and feel in his bones, because Lady Versenne's hair obscured his sight, and then there was a stomach-churning falling sensation. An impact jarred him, one that seemed to break every bone in his body and shook all the air out of his lungs. Stars burst against his eyelids.

Then everything went dark.

* * *

The forensics stuff in this chapter couldn't have been written without the help of D. P. Lyle's two books _Forensics for Dummies_ and _Murder and Mayhem: A Doctor Answers Medical and Forensic Questions for Mystery Writers_. Anyone who intends to write mysteries or even write the aftermaths of fights absolutely _need_ these books.

Sera Terranova: Thanks. Heh, poor Carth can take care of himself. I really doubt that boys don't hold grudges. They may not say it, but I'm pretty sure they hold grudges. Mercs are even worse, especially when they've been humiliated like that in front of an audience.

Prisoner 24601: Heh, thanks. Yep, Carth's escape will, indeed, be fun... Stay tuned!

Nyvanna: Well, I suppose it wasn't a big surprise, eh? :) Complete planetary domination? Moi? :innocent look:

Kosiah: No, no issues beyond those of a man who doesn't suffer fools gladly. Thanks. :) In a universe where swords, slugthrowers and bowcasters are used, I don't think film would be that much of a stretch. :)

thesnowman, Krazed Kaoishin Fangirl, Menolly Onasi: Thanks! Menolly, Dustil's got a long, long way to go...

ether-fanfic: Thanks. Carth would grudgingly admit he may not be the nicest guy around, compared to the next man... but then when the next man is Canderous... ;)

VMorticia: Glad you liked Ch. 48. You train ATC? Cool. As for Nekja... I can't kiss and tell, girl. :) Spider droids can still look like spiders even without eight legs, though. Check out the droid that fiddles with Malak's jaw in the cutscene.

Feza's twin: Enjoy!


	51. Strategies

**Chapter 51: Strategies**

Groaning softly, Carth trudged into his room, pulling off his gloves and unstrapping the gauntlets from his wrists as he went, and threw them onto his pallet on his way to the refresher. He grimaced at his reflection in the mirror of his refresher, his reflection making an ugly face back at him as he carefully eased the top of his heavy exoskeleton off, wincing every time he jarred his ribs, every breath sending little piercing stitches through his chest. Gingerly he took off the upper half of his armor, twinges of pain making him clench his jaw, especially when the motion of his arms pulled at abused muscles as he took them out of the armored sleeves.

With care, Carth unbuckled his belt, making sure the cover was firmly closed over the lens for the benefit of any monitors in the refresher. His legs weren't hurt, fortunately, so he had less trouble taking off the lower half of his armor, although the time he spent bent over to take off his boots stretched into a small, agonizing eternity.

Unsurprisingly, his torso was marked with blue-black patches of bruises, and a particularly large contusion was growing on his jaw like a rather ugly patch of beard; they stood out quite starkly against his pasty white skin. Gently, he palpated his nose, wincing as he did so, but it didn't feel like his nose was broken. The huge mass of makeup that flattened and deformed it must've helped keep it from being bent out of shape. He looked down at his hands, and was not surprised to see small bruises on his knuckles.

Throwing his sweat-soaked underclothes into the cleaning hamper, he stepped into the shower and turned the knob to the hottest setting, letting the hot needle spray pound against his back and the back of his head, washing the blood from his face and the sweat from his aching body. The hot shower and medpacs he would apply later after he was clean were the best he could do for his injuries, without Revan's skilled musician's fingers and Jedi powers to heal him.

Traveling in the company of four Jedi had really spoiled him when it came to healing wounds, Carth thought ruefully as he washed. Fortunately, he'd had the foresight to snag a large jar of Jolee's mysterious herbal concoctions from their supplies, the one the old Jedi made up specifically to treat bruises. It'd been especially appreciated during their adventures, both for bruises received in combat and those incurred by their daily weapons practice.

Mindful of the time, Carth stepped out and quickly dried his hair, then injected himself with a few medpacs, scrunching his face as the needle broke the skin of his arm; he went limp with relief as the kolto flowed through his veins and chased the pain away. He felt more like a human being, instead of something an incontinent bantha had left behind on the grass.

He stepped out into his room after putting his underwear back on, and grabbed up his duffel from his footlocker. His hand encountered the smooth surface of the round plastic jar and pulled it out. He walked back into the refresher, unscrewed the lid and scooped up a generous dollop of the herbal-scented ointment, and yelped as he slathered the concoction on his ribs; he'd forgotten it was cold, to help the blood clot and keep the bruising to a minimum. With the reduction of the pain, he was able to think more clearly, and took a couple of painkillers for good measure.

Well, he'd made some progress today, Carth thought as he examined himself in the mirror, dabbing some cream on his jaw and split lip. He thought he'd spotted some of the members of the group he was supposed to take command of in the exercise room, when he'd gotten beaten up and beaten up some so-called sentients. If they were anything like the soldiers he'd been with in training, they'd be at least a _little_ impressed with his performance.

Not that he'd been thinking that far ahead; he'd been too pissed off at the time to think that clearly. He was still a little taken aback by how fast he'd gotten angry, though he supposed being outnumbered five-to-one and getting beat up hadn't exactly done wonders for his temper. Maybe he should try talking with his mouth next time, instead of his fists. Unfortunately, he didn't think the mercs here would understand anything less... forceful.

Well, maybe he could charm the fairer sex, he thought nervously, with some trepidation. It had been a long, long time since he'd had to. Carth practiced his facial expressions in the mirror. Unfortunately for the trademark Onasi charm, the huge amount of makeup covered everything. His so-called roguish grin... wasn't. A small part of him wondered if Revan had done this to him deliberately for just this reason. He tried a smile, and was not surprised to see it come out like a grimace. Curling his lip up on one side made him look like he had a sneering toothache. He tried curling his mouth at both corners, which made him look constipated. _Damn._ Showing his teeth made him look a bit too ferocious. He sighed. It didn't look like Tav Tagar would win the Most Likely to Be Killed by Enraged Husbands for Seducing Their Wives award.

Rubbing his face, Carth sighed again. He tried a slow grin, thinking about Revan and Dustil joking at his expense that time on Coruscant, and caught sight of himself in the mirror. Well, it still looked a bit too bloodthirsty, with a rather I-laugh-while-watching-bloodbaths quality to it, but it would have to do. He turned his head from side to side, and decided the untattooed cheek would be better to present, scarred or not. The tattooed cheek made the bird flex rather interestingly when he moved his facial muscles, but it was not exactly sexy.

So much for his face; it was time to check the rest of him. Experimentally, Carth did a deep knee bend and stretched, rotating his arms and twisting one way, then the other. Only a few twinges remained of the earlier soreness and aches, which was good. _Not as young as you used to be, Onasi, but you've still got it_, he thought with a hint of a rueful smirk, and winced when he stretched his split lip. Just in time to get beat up again a little later, he thought glumly. He began thinking over his game plan for the inevitable confrontation he was sure would happen a little later.

Those mercs would react in one of two predictable ways; they would either leave him alone and follow his commands reluctantly, or they would challenge him. Being that these were mercs and not disciplined soldiers, the challenge was likely to be physical. It reminded him of boot camp for infantry, where drill sergeants would beat sense--sometimes literally--into the new recruits' heads. Canderous' comment to Calo Nord back on Taris about top dogs and kath hounds wasn't too far off the mark.

Carth applied dressings and bandages around his torso, over the salve, and carefully put his undershirt back on before going out to perch on the edge of his pallet. He took out the datapad Lieutenant Gan had slipped him before he'd left for lunch; it turned out to be a listing of the squad members now under his command. Unlike similar Fleet dossiers, it only listed each merc's name, strengths, weaknesses and stated areas of expertise, along with a generic description of the merc's race.

To his disgust, it didn't list planet of origin, training certifications, employment or deployment records, nor their previous commanding officers' reports, like Carth would've gotten from the Republic Office of Fleet Personnel. It wasn't much to go on, but it would have to do. Presumably Sayir had tested the mercs on their stated areas of expertise, such as one merc's experience with demolitions.

He memorized the scanty details; while he was loathe to help Sayir in any way, he had to keep up the appearance of cooperation, which meant getting to know his command and utilizing them to the best of his ability. At the very least he should be able to keep the damned fools from shooting their own side. Despite himself, he began to mentally position the mercs with the best scouting and stealth abilities, and planning just whom to use for the actual assaults.

Carth shook his head sharply; he was here to gather information and help as little as possible while keeping his cover intact, not actually _help_ Sayir. Still, he had to put up a good show; he was pretty sure Nekja would be watching him closely. Something about the man got his hackles up, and Carth didn't know why. He shrugged and stood; he didn't have time to chew on this right now, though.

With one eye on the time display, Carth put on the rest of his armor hurriedly and wiped the salve off his jaw. He checked himself, then the camera on his belt, and made sure everything was strapped comfortably. Thoughtfully, he regarded his gloves; he had a special set in his footlocker that had reinforced knuckles, and weighted, which could come in handy a little later if he had to bolster his authority. They had been a gift from Mission, given to him at the feast the night before they'd left Kashyyyk; he wasn't certain, exactly, what message Mission had been trying to give him with it. He grinned; a subtle way of saying he was a knucklehead, maybe, though Mission was never one to mince words. He rummaged in his footlocker again and changed gloves, making sure the camera control was seated firmly in his right palm, without his motions showing it to any surveillance devices.

He reached for his blasters, checked their settings and strapped them to his wrists, then buckled on his swords. At least this time he would be armed, if anyone tried to start something, though he doubted that would stop someone determined to make trouble. Lieutenant Gan had told him he would meet his squad earlier than the rest, before the actual training session began, in order to introduce himself to them.

Cautiously, Carth stepped out into the corridor, but no mercs were around to ambush him, though he saw some in the distance, going into and out of their own rooms. He walked quickly, deciding to take the scenic route instead of using the elevator, to get a better idea of the layout. The wide double ramps led to the floors above and below, and the training rooms for his section were several levels down. Warily he passed other mercs, alert for any suspicious moves on their part, but they mostly ignored them. As he walked, he thought about what he'd learned about Sayir's hirelings so far.

There were, as far as he could tell from the featureless white corridors, four floors of mercenaries; he estimated all four housed a total of around two thousand all told. Carth frowned. For a planetary domination force, that number was a bit on the small side. The decentralized nature of the Sluis Van habitats meant that all the other habitats would be alerted if one of them fell, and he was by no means certain all two thousand could bring even _one_ habitat down. It would take a lightning strike, using the element of surprise, and hitting the communications systems first, which was the life's blood of any such target.

Perhaps they intended to split up the two thousand and separate them into companies, to have one group per habitat, all striking at their targets at once. That would explain the squad system Sayir had set up, but Sluis Van had lots of habitats, although he supposed only a few were critical, like the capital city.

And all of these theories left out the Sluis Van Navy, a capable and competent fleet that had daunted even the Mandalorians _and_ the Sith, so much so that neither group had dared to invade after the SVN had handily destroyed all of their probing attacks. Carth wasn't certain of the SVN's capabilities outside of the Sluis Van system, but they certainly had the home field advantage should anyone decide unwisely to invade. The SVN would swat down any attempts to invade by a ground force army as soon as they received word of the attacks. Anyway, those scenarios didn't fit with the training sessions.

Scratching his itchy cheeks absently, Carth trotted down to the designated training level, noting the other landings he could see over the banister. He would explore them later, but right now he had to go earn his pay. He went down the ramp to the same staging area he'd been in earlier in the morning, although Lieutenant Gan wasn't there yet.

Carth looked at his chrono; he was the first one there, which was good. It never paid to be late for a command of any sort; being late never gave anyone a good impression. He stood in the center of the large, open-roofed room, and relaxed into an at-ease pose with his legs apart and his hands clasped loosely behind his back, and used the time to continue his ruminations.

The problem with his ground force army invasion scenarios was that none of the training areas resembled the habitats, or even the spaceports attached to all of them. The stages he'd seen so far were ship docking bays and space stations, and the Biths had described an office area and some sort of amphitheater setup. The differences between the two were really odd.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of boots tramping down the ramp, and grumbling voices raised in complaint. Carth supposed the mercs wouldn't be too happy about being ordered to report early to the sessions, just to meet their new leader. He sighed.

To his dismay, the large Duros, the former Gold Squad leader, was part of the group of six, and he was, unsurprisingly, glaring at Carth with his large red eyes. Damn, the Duros had to be a last-minute change. Carth scowled mentally; who the hell had done it and hadn't told him? It had to have been Nekja. _Damn. Looks like I'm on parade._

The other mercs stood in a surly clump in front of Carth, mumbling under their breaths. Carth waited patiently, not speaking until everyone was quiet.

"The name's Tav Tagar," Carth said quietly. "You must've heard the Rodian say I'm the new squad leader."

Carth couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard someone whisper, "... took on ten guys in the exercise room and won...." Heh, looked like the rumor mill had already chewed on his exploits and spat out ridiculous embellishments. Soon it was going to be "twenty men--no, thirty!--and a rancor, too!" He kept his expression carefully impassive.

"Yeah? Did he?" the Duros muttered in passable Basic, crossing two muscular arms over his broad chest.

"Have you got a problem with that?" Carth asked, immediately jumping into the Duros' scarred face, standing nose-to-nose with the Duros, right in his personal space. The Duros leaned away slightly and stepped back a pace, startled by Carth's move and off balance, just as Carth had intended.

"Yeah, I got a problem with it," the Duros growled, uncrossing his arms and fisting his hands at his sides, head hunched into his shoulders.

"Oh. I see," Carth said mildly in a disappointed tone. Oh, well. He'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, but it didn't look like he had a choice, especially if Nekja had set the Duros on him as a test.

Carth turned away, as if leaving it alone, but spun and threw a hard and fast uppercut to the Duros' shovel-like jaw. Carth's reinforced knuckles and weighted gloves helped to add force and momentum to the blow that knocked the Duros' head back, staggering him several steps backwards.

The other mercs had been just as stunned as the Duros by Carth's move, and didn't move to attack him. Several of them now reached for their weapons, mostly blasters, although one had a sword.

Carth, however, had already taken both of his blasters out and pointed at the ones who had their hands on weapons. He was far enough away that he could draw a bead on them and blast several of them long before they could retaliate.

"I'll shoot the first one who draws," Carth said in a quiet, deathly serious voice. They didn't need to know his blasters were on stun. It was a gamble; they could still charge in a group at him and overwhelm him easily, but they didn't seem to realize the suppressor fields were on, and any shots he got off would be non-lethal, if painful.

The mercs froze. The slight hum of Carth's blaster power packs was loudly audible in the sudden silence. Slowly, reluctantly, the mercs moved their hands from their weapons.

Smiling thinly, Carth lowered but didn't holster his guns. "This is between me and him,"--he jerked his chin at the Duros, who had recovered by now, and was now rubbing his jaw--"so you can stay out of this... unless you've got a problem with me."

The mercs looked uncertainly at each other, at the Duros, then at Carth. After several tense moments, one of them stepped back, arms crossing on his chest, so that his hands were nowhere near his weapons. The others slowly followed suit.

Carth suppressed a grim smile; as he'd thought, the Duros had not been liked, and hadn't earned the loyalty of his squad. This was also the squad that'd done most poorly in the training sessions, so they couldn't be too happy with the Duros' leadership right now.

Now it was time for Carth to decide if he could trust them to keep out of the fight. If he didn't, he would lose their respect and offend them with his distrust--not that offending someone with his distrust was something new, but he'd risk their interference if he didn't at least acknowledge their gesture. If he did decide to trust them, that meant he couldn't keep his attention on all of them while he faced the Duros. He was pretty sure he'd read the other mercs' attitudes correctly, but there was always a chance he'd miscalculated, and their seeming compliance could be a ruse to get him to lower his guard and turn his back.

Reaching a decision quickly, Carth smoothly slid his blasters back into his wrist holsters, and unbuckled them, along with his swords. The Duros hesitated, and looked around at the other mercs, as if he were trying to reassure himself of the numbers on his side and their support, but none of the other mercs would meet his eyes, staring instead at anything but the Duros. The Duros' jaw clenched, blood dripping from a split lip down his chin, and he angrily unstrapped the long knife from his belt, then unslung his blaster rifle.

Now would be the best opportunity for the other mercs to catch him, while Carth was weaponless. He stood, muscles tense, ready to lunge for his weapons if the others tried something, but no one moved. Carth breathed a silent sigh of relief, glad that he'd decided correctly, and turned his attention to the Duros.

Carth was ready and waiting for him, having gained the dubious advantage of being the first to step up. He eyed the Duros, sizing him up; he was the same height as Carth, but was rather more muscular. So he was strong, but not necessarily fast, though Carth was not about to assume he was slow, either. From what Carth could remember from the training holos, the Duros had above normal speed and reflexes, as would be expected of someone selected for their physical prowess rather than their tactical or leadership ability, although the Duros may have been the best Nekja and Gan could come up with. Which rather said something about the quality of the mercs Sayir had hired.

One thing Carth had learned on his adventures with the _Ebon Hawk's_ crew was that appearances could be deceiving, so he had no intention of underestimating the Duros. And he'd learned more than a few melee combat tricks from them. Carth settled into a combat crouch and waited patiently, hands slightly curled in front of him at about waist height.

The Duros, already fighting mad when Carth had punched him, lunged, fists flying. Carth blocked the first blow of the right hook-left-right combination on his left arm, and stepped out of range of the other blows. The blow Carth had blocked had shuddered up his arm, even through the protection his gauntlet gave him, which told him the Duros was as strong as he'd estimated, but the Duros was too enraged to fight with any subtlety. A small part of Carth's mind coolly assessed the Duros' moves, even as he moved nimbly to the side to avoid a grappling lunge.

_Always a mistake to fight when you're so angry_, Carth thought dispassionately, taking a punch on his crossed wrists. So far he'd been on the defensive, using the time to gauge the Duros' fighting style and conserve his own energy while the Duros wasted strength on flailing attacks. Carth had fought while he'd been so angry he'd seen red, but he'd learned to use his anger and pain to focus and channel it into an advantage, rather than a disadvantage. The irony of it had not been lost upon him, the similarities between how he used his emotions to fight and the Sith teachings, which was why he always tried to keep a cool head in combat.

The Duros favored a pugilist style, using his fists more than he used his feet or other limbs, a style similar to what Carth had used before he'd fallen in with the disparate _Ebon Hawk_ crew. Fighters who fought like that didn't usually anticipate techniques outside of their experience. The more lightly built Jedi, especially, had taught him more exotic moves, to use his feet as well as his hands, and Zaalbar and Canderous had given him experience in fighting opponents who were bigger and stronger than he was.

It was time to go back on the offensive, Carth thought; it was time to strike now, having gained the measure of the Duros' style, and before the Duros came to his senses. Carth waited until the Duros was off balance from swinging another punch that Carth had dodged yet again, and spun to throw a kick into the Duros' gut.

The Duros folded up, too surprised that Carth had struck _him_ instead of staying on the defensive to have anticipated it and blocked it, and had used his leg instead of his fists. Carth finished his spin kick, pivoted and bent low to sweep the Duros' legs out from under him. The Duros landed belly first on the floor hard, all the wind knocked out of him.

_Time to finish this._

Carth stepped forward and kicked the Duros in the head, a carefully placed and precise kick that should lay out the Duros for a few minutes, but not enough to disable him for the training. The Duros went limp.

Turning to the other mercs watching from the walls, Carth made a beckoning gesture, breathing hard from the fight. "Anyone else?" he asked challengingly.

The mercs looked at each other, then at the fallen Duros. That they hadn't attacked Carth the moment his back was turned was a good sign.

"Nobody? Anyone?" Carth taunted. "Feel free to come at me two or three at a time, don't be shy."

It didn't seem to occur to them to attack him en masse, nor had it seemed to occur to them that he was currently weaponless. Nonchalantly, Carth sidled to where he'd propped his weapons; no one stopped him or raised their own weapons. Feeling better the moment he grabbed his swords, Carth slung them and his blasters back on. Still no one spoke or made a move.

"So has anyone _else_ got a problem with me?" Carth asked, pacing from one merc to another, though he made sure he never presented his back to any of them. He stepped into their personal space, standing nose-to-nose with them, and stayed there until the merc Carth was currently in front of shook his head before moving on.

"Right," Carth said pleasantly, once he was back to standing in the center of the staging area. The Duros was starting to stir now, groaning faintly. Carth waited until the Duros had gotten to his hands and knees, shaking his head, before bending down and offering the Duros his hand.

The Duros stared at Carth's hand, then up at Carth's face.

"Don't be a stubborn fool," Carth murmured in a low voice to the Duros, quietly enough that the other mercs couldn't hear. "We can keep fighting, and I can just keep beating you down and humiliate you even more." He paused to let that sink in. "_Or_ you can learn to get along with me, and act like an adult instead of like a spoiled brat."

The Duros glared at him, but he apparently reached the same conclusion, however unpalatable, because he reluctantly took Carth's hand and allowed himself to be hauled up. To the Duros' credit, he didn't try any games like squeezing Carth's hand to test his strength, or pulling him down. Carth smiled and handed the Duros a medpac. The Duros looked at it suspiciously, but made the decision to use it before he went to fetch his weapons, no doubt anticipating the exercise he would have to do later while injured if he _didn't_ use it. 

Carth was not fooled by the Duros' seeming obedience into thinking he was suddenly a friend or ally; he wasn't going to turn his back on _any_ of them if he could help it. The Duros was probably waiting for his chance to get him later; Carth noted that he didn't thank him for the medpac. He supposed that was too much to hope for, given that he had just beaten him up and humiliated him in front of his former command.

Carth turned to the other mercs. "Alright, you sorry excuses for soldiers, let's see if you can actually stand at attention." His tone of voice made it clear he didn't think they could lace up their boots without clear instructions and a user's manual. "I've seen three-day-old corpses that can stand better than you." He barked out the names he'd memorized from the datapad. From the surprised looks on their faces, they hadn't thought he'd know them yet.

Good. He meant to push them off balance and keep them that way. _Seize the initiative and keep it close_, an old Fleet Academy instructor had advised him, when Carth'd had reached the rank where he would be taking charge of ensigns on their first deployments. He bet the principle would work here just as well as it had then.

The mercs stood at a vague species of attention, in a messy line that would've made his old Fleet instructors apoplectic. Carth decided not to harp on it; it was unlikely he'd be expected to make a purse out of a Gamorrean's ear. It was enough, for the moment, that he'd earned their respect and attention, however reluctant.

The bell rang for the afternoon training sessions at that point. Carth could see Lieutenant Gan enter the door through the open roof of the staging area and trot down the curved ramp, and the heads of the rest of the other mercs through the observation windows.

Lieutenant Gan stepped through the door, and eyed Carth and the mercs behind him. "I take it you've introduced yourself to your command?" he asked Carth mildly.

"Yes, sir," Carth said, bracing to stiff attention.

"Very well," the Rodian said genially.

Carth wondered at the Rodian's good humor; maybe Gan had seen his fight with the Duros. Carth wondered what the Rodian had made of it.

The other mercs began to pour into the staging area, the tramp of their boots ringing loudly on the metal floor, vibrating up Carth's boots. Lieutenant Gan waited until they had all arrived and clumped together into their respective squads before speaking.

"We will run through the same simulation as you did this morning, with a few changes I've made to the layout to make it more interesting. We'll see if you've learned anything. Squad leaders, front and center. The rest of you suit up," Lieutenant Gan ordered.

Carth stepped forward, already formulating plans for improving his squad's performance.

*** * ***

Scrubbing the sweat off his tired face, Carth undid the buckles of his biofeedback harness and unstrapped the control gauntlets, then undid the straps on the leg braces. He let them hang loose, so that they jingled merrily as they bobbed and rattled against each other as he trotted behind his squad to the staging area.

Lieutenant Gan's antennae were standing straight up in surprise as he stood in front of the holo, running through the recordings of the afternoon's sessions. Carth hid a grin; his squad had been the first to reach their objective, the bridge, although by that time only two of his six squad members had 'survived'. The others had fallen to droid fire, getting too cocky or careless as Carth's deployment got them further along than they'd ever reached.

The Duros, Chavak, was one of the two survivors, and Carth had kept a careful eye on him, never turning his back to the Duros. Although Carth had to give him credit for obeying his orders promptly and readily enough, which was why he was one of the only two survivors. He didn't know why none of the scouts or rearguards had been as effective as they were now, or why no one had thought of sending in skirmishing elements on ahead, but it seemed to have made all the difference.

With a lot more cooperation and trust between squad members, and between squads, these mercs could well accomplish the same exercise without losing too many men. The thought pierced Carth's good mood, turning it to worried grimness.

Carth mostly ignored and tuned out the lieutenant's praises for his squad, and the admonishments the Rodian heaped on the others, who hadn't done so well. Those squads that hadn't listened to Carth's situation reports, simply bulling through their own opposition without heed for the dangers, had been decimated, trapped or otherwise hadn't reached their objectives. Despite his inattention, Carth didn't miss the dirty looks that came his way, nor the looks that were being directed at his squad. He frowned quellingly at his own squad, who were preening and strutting in place; they took the hint and stopped, but they still had huge, foolish grins on their faces.

At least they were listening to him now without needing to feel the flats of his swords. He rolled his eyes; it had been like herding fell cats at first, or taking charge of sulky little boys sent to detention. Only threats, much cursing and judicious use of fists and sometimes swords on Carth's part had gotten them to listen at all.

Finally, Lieutenant Gan released them all to head for their rooms. Carth pretended to do something with his armor and harness until most of the mercs had passed him by, so that he was near the tail end of the procession. He didn't want to turn his back on any of them, not even his own squad, and especially not Chavak.

It was time for him to do some more exploring, he thought as he stowed his harness away into its locker, inset into one of the walls of the staging area. He should go and fraternize with his squad on their off-duty hours to get to know them better, but this wasn't the Fleet, and he wasn't really here as a merc. He checked his chrono; he had time to wander around to yet another mess hall for dinner, then he could really explore, while everyone else was doing whatever they did for entertainment. Remembering the list of amenities Boro/Sayir provided, Carth snorted; it was unlikely they would be attending poetry readings.

Carth wandered into the third mess hall after he'd cleaned up and dropped off his weapons. Again the mercs buzzed questioningly when they saw him, and Carth thought he heard whispers of "...twenty men and a kath hound!...." He had to hide a smirk. He was one of the last to get in line, but this time there were no curious Biths around to engage him in conversation. As usual, he kept his back to the wall. As his eyes roved over the assemblage of mercs--just as numerous here as they had been in the first two mess halls he'd gone to--his eyes were caught by a group near the middle of the room. Instead of armor or regular clothes, they wore flight jackets and jumpsuits.

His eyebrows rose as he took them in. _Pilots?_ But what were they doing _here_, instead of one of Sayir's space or flight divisions, or on one of their space stations? Or were they merc pilots? Damn, maybe he should've had Revan put in his own skills in that area on Tav Tagar's record... Then again, how many Marines had piloting experience with anything larger than assault shuttles? Shuttle pilots were provided by the Fleet, anyway. It was probably just as well that he hadn't, since he doubted the pilots were involved in the actual training sessions, and it might look suspicious if a pilot fraternized with non-pilots. He scratched his chin and wondered if these pilots knew how to fight, too. From their rather large and muscular builds, they probably did. He resolved to get a seat near them.

Carth, laden dinner tray in his hands, arrowed in on his target, a large Zabrak woman sitting on the end, a little away from the other pilots. She had a mane of unnaturally bright red hair, which stood out in sharp contrast against her dark green jacket. There were few mercs sitting at that block of tables, which made Carth wonder why. He took a seat close to the Zabrak, and gave her his practiced grin when she turned to frown at him.

The Zabrak wasn't exactly the beautiful sort; at least, not according to _Carth's_ standards. She had a rather sharp face, like the harsh, merciless planes of a sheer cliff, and a nose that looked like it could cut through durasteel. Her horns had been painted the same shade of bright red as her hair. The pilot's uniform she wore were in the Boro colors of silver and dark green, with a bright white undershirt. While her face was thin, the rest of her was proportioned on the generous side, Carth had to admit; her jumpsuit was strained across her front. Not, ah, that he was looking, nope. She was the only female pilot in the group.

The Zabrak frowned severely at Carth, giving him the impression an axe was being thrown at him. "That seat's taken, human," she said frostily in a nasal alto voice.

Carth smiled, he hoped, in a charming manner. "Oh? Who?" he asked brightly, not taking the very broad hint.

She didn't smile, frowning more deeply instead. "My boyfriend," she said pointedly.

That wasn't a surprise, really, but Carth wasn't about to be fazed by her cold shoulder. "Your boyfriend, huh? Why'd he leave a beautiful woman with such a nice set of... horns like yourself sitting here all by yourself?" he asked, a little appalled by how easily the lie tripped off his tongue. He also hoped complimenting a Zabrak on her horns wasn't considered a crude come-on. He smiled carefully and hoped he looked like he'd meant it, and wished he'd paid more attention to his cultural classes in school.

Judging by the very slight softening of the Zabrak's harsh features and shoulders, he had succeeded. "You have a smooth tongue, human," she said grudgingly, and eyed the tattoo on his face with interest. "Are you the one they call Bird Man?" she asked curiously.

Carth suppressed his eye roll and groan. "Yeah, but my name's Tav Tagar. What's yours?" he asked disingenuously, smiling widely, even as he mentally groaned at the horribly clichéd pick up lines he was spouting, and would probably continue to spout if he wanted to get any information out of her.

The Zabrak looked at him consideringly. Carth gave her his most winsome smile, although it probably came out as a I'm-pissed-and-I'm-dying-to-kill-someone grimace, and lifted his mug of caffa to his lips. She turned back to her own meal and ate a few bites. Just as Carth thought she was going to ignore him, she answered.

"My name's Zaie... Tav," the Zabrak said with a hint of a smile.

"That's a pretty name," Carth said. He squelched the uncharitable thoughts firmly.

"Is it true you fought fifteen men all at once in the exercise room?" Zaie asked curiously, leaning towards him, her ample bosom nearly brushing his arm.

Carth froze, and resisted the urge to groan and move his arm; doing that would give his whole game away. "Nah, it was only five," he said modestly, waving a dismissive hand.

Zaie looked impressed nonetheless. "Five against only you? You don't look too badly beaten to me." Her eyes raked Carth up and down, lingering on the fading bruise on his jaw. She leaned closer, as though trying to inspect it more minutely.

Carth kept the frozen smile on his face and didn't lean back only by main force of will, trying not to show how flustered he was getting. _I can't ever tell Revan or Dustil about this_, he thought mordantly. _I'd never live it down! I can't believe I'm doing this... I can't believe I'm going to be_ saying _ this!_

Smiling stiffly, Carth said, "So, uh..." _beautiful_, no, that was reserved for Revan, and, in any case, didn't apply, _pretty_, no, that _so_ did not fit her, _sexy_, no, he couldn't say that with a straight face. He tried to find a suitably complimentary cognomen, one that he could say without either choking, gagging or breaking out into sniggers, all of which would get him a slap, at the very least. The muscular, built-like-a-cargo-freighter woman next to him would probably break him in half. In a desperate flash of inspiration, he realized the woman was probably very proud of that thick mane of bright red hair; it was probably dyed, but he knew better than to call her on it. "Red," he continued smoothly.

"So, Red, what's a pretty woman like you doing in a place like this?" he asked, trying not to cringe at the utter corniness of the line he'd just reeled off.

Zaie raised one thin, obviously plucked red eyebrow. "You don't know?"

Carth contrived to look appealingly sheepish. "Well, you see, I just came in today, so I'm new around here," he explained.

Zaie nodded her understanding. "Well, that explains why I've never seen you around here before. Well, I'm a pilot." She pointed at her clothes and insignia.

"I got that much," Carth said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. "What do you pilot?"

"Oh, I pilot these big fat tubs, transport ships," Zaie said dismissively, flicking out the fingers of one large, red-manicured hand.

Carth's attention perked. "Transport ships?" He pretended to think. "You mean like cargo ships?" he asked, deliberately sounding stupid and ignorant.

It must've worked, because Zaie favored him with a disgusted look. "No, not a cargo ship. Something like a big assault shuttle, only it has more weapons," she said, as if explaining something simple to a stupid child.

Carth nodded, encouraging her for more information, and tamped down his annoyance; he _wanted_ her to write him off as a stupid grunt. "Really? I guess you pilots have all the luck, flying out there instead of in here, sweating with us grunts," he said, injecting envy into his voice as he tried to determine if they'd been using sims or practicing real maneuvers.

Sluis Van was a big system, full of empty space; there were all sorts of nooks and crannies they could practice in, as long as they could hide their incoming and outgoing traffic. And he didn't really have to pretend envy; he hadn't sat in a pilot's seat for days.

Zaie pouted; she may have intended it to look charming, but she couldn't quite bring it off, not with her freighter-like build and sharp face--her lip stuck out like a plow. "We don't go out into space much," she said with a longing in her voice Carth understood completely. "It's mostly sims we get," she added with a deep, heartfelt sigh.

_Time to throw out another bone._ "Aw, too bad, but I guess that means us lowly grunts get to see a pretty woman like you more often," Carth said with another forced smile, while inwardly he was gagging on his words. Maybe Revan had been right to dump so much makeup on his face that it felt like a mask; he didn't think he could pull off these horrible lines without it.

Zaie sniffed, but didn't look that put out. "I suppose. I hate being grounded."

Carth looked sympathetic. "That's too bad. What do you have to do with those tubs, anyway?" he asked casually, forcing himself to lean close to her. His nose started itching immediately when he caught a whiff of her cloying perfume, and he had to hurriedly and vigorously rub his still-tender nose with one hand to stop an incipient sneeze. Great, he had to pick someone with perfume he was allergic to. He leaned back, turning to his food to disguise the motion.

Zaie shrugged, picking at her own nearly finished plate. "Boring stuff really. Docking at ships, docking at stations, sometimes with improvised airlocks we have to maneuver to. That's a little more exciting, but only just barely." She perked slightly. "Sometimes we get to join the boarding parties, though."

_Hm, interesting_, Carth thought as he chewed and swallowed a bite of his dinner. "Huh, no fighting besides that?" he ventured. "Sounds kinda boring to me."

"Well, of course it would, you being a dirtside grunt," Zaie said disparagingly, but she brushed a hand lightly along his arm as she'd said it, her long, bright red nails looking like bloody talons.

Carth really had to restrain himself from flinching and sliding away from the Zabrak. Subtle she wasn't. "Yeah, us dirtside grunts are easier to entertain, I guess," he said with a fixed self-deprecating grin on his face, feeling his skin crawling. He vowed to himself to never, ever try this tactic ever again, possibly not even if it were a life-or-death situation.

Zaie leaned closer to him, her perfume irritating Carth's nose when it wafted his way. "How about I entertain you in a little while, then? I promise you it won't be boring," she breathed into his ear.

Nearly choking on his nerf steak, Carth did his best to look interested and eager at the Zabrak's none-too-subtle offer, when what he really wanted to do was lose his dinner. Not only was the invitation on the shameless side, she'd already told him she had someone else. Of course, he knew that when he'd decided to charm her into giving him information, but he hadn't thought she would come on to him so quickly and so unreservedly.

So it was with actual gratitude mixed with shame when Carth felt a hard blow to his back, rocking him forward nearly into the remains of his dinner. Zaie leaned back and scooted away from Carth--much to his infinite relief--when his hands slammed down onto his tray for balance, hitting his utensils so that they flipped end over end, spattering the environs with the food still impaled on them. _Thank the Force! And thank you, whoever you are, you sorry bastard_, Carth thought with fervent gratitude. Now he knew why the table was nearly empty of everyone but the pilots.

Neither Zaie nor Carth had heard or seen whoever it was who'd sneaked up behind their backs, though Carth had a pretty good idea of just whom it was. He offered silent, profuse thanks for the interruption, and heartfelt apologies for what he was about to do.

Carth was hit hard rapidly three more times before he grabbed his half-full mug of still-hot caffa and threw it over his shoulder; he was rewarded with an outraged shriek when the hot liquid scalded the person behind him. Carth used the time to heave himself up and out of his seat from the bench, and spun to face his attacker, nearly slipping on the caffa he'd spilled.

His attacker turned out to be another Zabrak, this one dark and stocky, taller than Carth by half a head, and proportionately broader. He was wearing half armor, but it hadn't saved him from Carth's liquid projectile because the caffa had caught him at about groin height, and he hadn't been protected in that sensitive spot, nor had his legs.

The Zabrak was frantically trying to brush the scalding hot caffa off his trousers, and holding the wet fabric away from his skin in one hand, which meant he could only block one of Carth's blows when Carth threw a right hook to the Zabrak's face. Carth then stepped in close and raised his knee, planting it right into the Zabrak's gut when his hand had been blocking Carth's punch, leaving him wide open. The breath was expelled from the Zabrak's mouth in an explosive gust of air, blowing against Carth's cheeks as the Zabrak was propelled backwards into an empty bench behind him, and lost his balance, falling against the table.

Carth grabbed the Zabrak's shoulders and spun him around, wrenching his right arm up behind his back. The Zabrak bellowed and stood on tiptoes to try to relieve the pressure on the limb, clawing at Carth's hold. He tried to stomp on Carth's feet in an attempt to escape, but Carth had anticipated that and just moved his feet away. Carth shoved the Zabrak down onto the table, slamming and pressing his head against the surface, and pushed his knee into the small of the Zabrak's back to keep him there. The other mercs were on their feet, watching, with murmurs of furious betting buzzing in the background.

Leaning down to the Zabrak's ear, Carth said, "I was talking to the lady." _Thank you, thank you, thank you_, he thought gratefully. "Next time you want to interrupt, a tap on the shoulder will do." Carth's low growl was still heard by the mercs at the surrounding tables, just as he'd intended.

Sighing inwardly, knowing he didn't have any choice, Carth expertly dislocated the Zabrak's elbow with a loud popping sound that made the nearby mercs wince in sympathy and the Zabrak grunt with pain. Carth wished he could give the Zabrak a better gift for interrupting at such a timely moment, but he had his appearance and dubious reputation to keep up. _Sorry, sorry..._

Carth let go of the Zabrak, who went limp, clutching his arm and glaring at him, cursing breathlessly. Out of the corner of Carth's eye, he saw Zaie looking wide-eyed at him; he wasn't sure he liked that calculating look in her eye, and decided to beat a dignified retreat while he still could. He needed to take care of his newly aching back anyway--again.

Dammit, he'd moved too slowly, because there was Zaie, blocking his way. Carth groaned inwardly, but couldn't dodge around her in the narrow aisle between the benches, and it wouldn't exactly look manly, for him to be seen avoiding someone.

"I'll be free tomorrow night, Tav," Zaie purred into his ear when she caught his arm, pressing a small datapad into his hand. Carth only just managed to catch himself from throwing her arm off. "I'll be waiting," she added with a smile.

_I think I'd have to shoot myself first, or escape from here, whichever comes first_, Carth thought disgustedly while he smiled stiffly back. "Sure thing, Red," he said, realizing as he said it that he had to look up at her. He hadn't realized she was that much taller than him, and as broad as he was. _You were never interested in mountain climbing, Onasi..._

Carth disengaged himself from Zaie with as much grace as he could muster under the circumstances, and headed for the doors, the spot between his shoulderblades itching from the glare the Zabrak directed at him, and the speculative gazes of the other mercs. He made himself move normally, gritting his teeth, even though his back ached from the Zabrak's blows. The minute he was outside and the doors were closed firmly behind him, though, he leaned against the wall, wincing.

_You've really got to find a better way of talking to people, Onasi_, Carth thought ruefully to himself as he headed to his room, rubbing his back as best he could. Once he reached his room, he took out the familiar jar of salve again, putting it on the counter in the refresher as he stripped to shower. He threw Zaie's datapad into the disposer. Once again he thought of Revan and Dustil, thinking of how much they'd both tease him if he ever told him about the tactics he'd used. Revan, especially, would be merciless.

Smiling despite it all through the film of water running down his face from his wet hair, Carth thought about the time on Taris where he'd had to actually argue with Revan about treating her wounds.

_ Carth and Revan walked towards Zelka Forn's clinic, both of them limping slightly after a long day of fighting swoop gangs and gathering leads in the Lower City of Taris. He kept a worried eye on Revan, who was limping much more badly than he was; he could see bloodstains that were still dark and fresh instead of dry on her combat suit, which meant her wounds were still bleeding._

That first fight with the swoop gang when they'd first stepped off the elevator had injured her more than she'd cared to admit, it seemed. She hadn't let him treat her with their medpacs, insisting that they be used only in emergencies, and she wasn't_ an emergency, she'd said adamantly. Short of knocking her down and sitting on her, a feat he wasn't sure he was capable of, he couldn't do anything about it but grumble. She had at least acquiesced to going to Forn's clinic, after he'd stubbornly insisted, though she'd called it nagging. _Stubborn, infuriating woman.

_ They halted abruptly, confronted with a large Sith patrol milling around directly in front of Forn's clinic. Carth stared with some dismay at them out of the corners of his eyes. They couldn't go now, or they'd risk attracting unwelcome attention, especially given the way they looked. Some of the soldiers turned towards them, noticing their condition. _Shit!_ Carth gritted his teeth, thoughts racing as he desperately tried to find a way out of this without blasting. He suddenly felt Revan drape her arm across his shoulders and force him forward, making him stumble. _

_ Revan started singing. Very loudly. Very off-key. _

_ Carth put a bit of a roll in his step, staggering slightly from side to side, pulling Revan along with him. He had to lower his head to hide his grin as she started to sing a very popular drinking song, one with very bawdy lyrics. It was so damned familiar; he'd used to sing it himself with his buddies, after a drink or five of very strong beer, although even their version had not been quite so dirty. _

_ The Sith soldiers turned back, clearly uninterested in a pair of apparent drunks embarrassing themselves in public. _Nope, no Republic soldiers here, sir, move along...

_ "Shall I puke on your boots to lend versimilitude?" Revan murmured to him in between a stanza. _

_ Carth's eyes darted to hers, and grinned despite it all when he saw the flash of light on her teeth as she grinned back. "Shh," he admonished in a whisper, wrapping his arm around her, his other hand keeping her arm on his shoulders. "Keep singing." He tickled her in the ribs with his right hand; she squealed and giggled loudly and convincingly, although the look she flashed him told him he'd better not take any more of such liberties, or he might find himself minus a few bits of his anatomy he would miss dearly. _

_ "You could always help, flyboy, instead of letting me carry the damned tune all by myself," she muttered before launching into another bawdy song, even more off-key than before. _

_ Carth pulled Revan from one side of the wide street to the other, bumping into other pedestrians, much to their outraged disgust, and hoped his drunken stagger was convincing enough. "What, sing?" he muttered back. _

_ "You're right. On second thought, I better go it solo," she said with a wicked grin, after finishing the chorus. "We don't want them to blast us, after all." _

_ "Hah, hah. Cute, beautiful," he muttered dryly, deliberately bumping her hip with his as they staggered away from Forn's clinic towards the apartment building where they had their hideout. He was grinning as he'd said it, though; there was so much relief rolling over him at such a narrow escape he wanted to laugh. _

_ Revan didn't answer. Carth looked over at her face in alarm, her head still close to his because they were still pretending to be falling-down drunk; the desire to laugh died when he took in the cold sweat beading her brow, and heard that particular silence that comes of gritting one's teeth tightly, so that one wouldn't give away one's pain. _

_ "Hey, are you alright?" he asked in a low voice, concerned. He tried to take more of her weight on his shoulders, firmly grasping her around the waist with his right arm, taking her pack and carrying it. He hoped he hadn't aggravated her wounds with that hip bump of his. He scolded himself for being a stupid idiot for doing that, since he knew she was badly injured. _

_ "Fine," she muttered through gritted teeth, her pale, sweaty face and raspy, labored breathing undermining that statement. _

_ Carth walked as fast as he could towards their hideout without attracting attention and hurting her further. "Hold on, we're almost there," he mumbled at her. She was leaning more and more heavily on him, and he had to fight down the urge to scoop her up into his arms and run. _

_ They finally made it to their hideout after a small, anxious eternity. He scooped her up into his arms the moment the doors closed behind them, and carried her to one of the pallets. _

_ "Hey, I can walk!" she said indignantly, squirming around. _

_ "Okay, fine," Carth said exasperatedly, setting her gently down onto one of the pallets and dropping her pack onto the floor. He eyed with some concern the long cuts the Black Vulkars had inflicted on her combat armor, seeing the bloodstains darkening the edges. He sat down on the other pallet. "You need to clean those cuts and put some kolto on them--" _

_ "I know that," Revan snapped disgruntledly, her waspish tone taking him aback. _

_ Carth rubbed the back of his neck with one grimy hand as he watched Revan warily. She'd been in such a good mood just earlier that this sudden mood change took him by surprise. It must be the pain that was making her so grumpy. He pulled his pack off his back, rummaging through it for some medpacs. _

_ Revan rose on unsteady legs, one hand outstretched to hold herself up against the wall. _

_ "Hey, where're you going?" Carth asked, some medpacs and sealed rolls of bandages clutched in one hand as he looked bemusedly up at her. _

_ "Refresher. Wassit look like?" Revan replied sarcastically as she moved stiffly past him. _

_ Carth put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down onto the pallet. Revan glared at him, then at his hand. _

_ "Look," Carth said placatingly, taking his hand off her, "you've got some bad wounds on your back, and you won't be able to treat them by yourself." _

_ Revan stared at him, her hands curled into white-knuckled fists. Carth didn't know if that was because she was keeping herself from slapping him, or from the pain. "I can do it myself," she grated out. The beads of sweat on her brow and pain-lined mouth belied her nonchalant words. _

_ "If you're embarrassed, I promise I won't ogle you or touch you more than I have to. I've got lots of experience fixing up wounds, I'll be quick," Carth said earnestly. "I'm just going to fix the ones on your back. It'll take me five, maybe ten minutes, tops." _

_ Revan said nothing, her lips compressed into a thin line as she looked consideringly at him, seemingly unaware of the still-bleeding injuries staining her combat suit. _

_ "Why are you being so damned stubborn about this?" Carth said in exasperation, his patience--never in large supply--running out. "Do you really want those cuts to get infected? Let me help you, dammit!" _

_ Revan jerked her chin up and stared at him for a moment more, before stiffly saying, "I'm... I'm not used... I'm not used to showing, well, weakness." _

_ Carth scratched his head with his free hand, feeling baffled. "I don't see how being injured would be considered a weakness. I mean, I've been hurt and you helped patch _me_ up..." He supposed she wouldn't let him treat her wounds unless she told him. Assuming she let him. He suppressed a frustrated sigh, realizing as he did so that he'd been doing a lot of frustrated sighing lately. _

_ Revan drew herself up, showing no indication that doing such a thing hurt her, even though it had to have stretched her wounds rather painfully. "I told you I'm a smuggler," she began, crossing her arms on her chest. _

_ Carth nodded, wondering what the hell that had to do with anything. _

_ "Smuggling's a very... male-dominated occupation," Revan began. "I've learned to endure the sneers and insults other smugglers throw my way, just for being a woman who thinks she can excel in their field. I've learned that, if I show weakness, I'm just inviting them to condescend, to patronize me, and think I can be taken advantage of," she said, her face a hard mask, hiding her hurts and fears. _

_ Carth gritted his teeth at what she was implying; had men tried to take advantage of her before, thinking her a weak, defenseless woman? They were all core-slimes of the worst sort, if so--not that smugglers had reputations for being chivalrous and sensitive sentients. He winced, remembering what she'd done to that Vulkar scumbag who'd wanted to take her to the Vulkar base--whether she wanted to go or not. _

_ "Then those smugglers are all scumbags," Carth said firmly. "But, uh, _I'm_ not a smuggler, and _I_ haven't patronized you. Not all guys are like that." _

_ Revan uncrossed her arms and looked down at her hands, which she'd forcibly relaxed and now lay limply in her lap. "I know." She looked back up at him. "I'm sorry... I've been unfair. It's... it's just that it's been a long time since anyone's ever cared." A line furrowed on her brow, as if she'd just remembered something painful, but the look of sorrow passed over her face quickly. "I shouldn't have judged you by the other men I've known. Usually the big, tough guys I've known, like you, think women aren't good for anything but sex, having babies and keeping house." _

_ "I think that'd be a waste," Carth said seriously. "You're one of the most skilled women I've ever met, and you've saved my butt lots of times. I wouldn't be sitting here right now, talking to you, if you were doing housework." _

_ A corner of Revan's lips tilted up in a wry, lopsided smile. "Well. I must admit, Carth, that you're a refreshing change from the chauvinist pigs I usually meet in the line of my work." She inhaled a deep breath, wincing as it apparently jarred her injuries. "I'd like very much for you to fix my wounds. I don't think any amount of twisting around on my part would allow me to reach them on my own." She took another deep breath, this time controlling her wince. "Thank you." She swiveled on the pallet, turning her back to him, and started undoing the straps on her armor, unbuckling the swords at her waist to move them out of the way. _

_ Carth headed for the refresher to wash his hands with the harsh soap he'd bought--it had been all he could get at the time with the credits he'd had. He rubbed at a superficial blaster burn on the back of his hand, courtesy of a truly tough and nasty assassin they'd killed for the substantial bounty on her head. Carefully, he washed the grime and dirt he'd picked up down in the dirty confines of the Lower City, and the blood and sweat he'd accumulated. Most of the blood, fortunately, wasn't his. By the time he finished washing up and went back out, Revan had unstrapped her weapons and taken off her combat suit. _

_ After taking out the sealed package of antiseptic wipes from a medkit, Carth rummaged in his backpack for more bandages, content that she was finally listening to him. He heard rustling and elastic twanging from her pallet as she divested herself of her shirt and undergarments. He carefully and thoroughly disinfected his hands with one of the wipes before he turned back to her, another antiseptic wipe held ready. _

_ Carth's breath caught and his eyes widened at the sight of Revan, completely naked from the waist up. His mouth went dry. His eyes widened further at seeing the pale, time-faded scars on her back; fine blade scars crisscrossed with straighter, wider blaster burns, and some strange, shiny scars that'd been inflicted with a weapon he was unfamiliar with. They covered a back that was delicately muscled and well-toned, the build of an athletic dancer. He was seized with an insane impulse to trace them all slowly with his fingertips. _

_ The sound of her impatient voice jarred him out of his reverie. "Hey, I don't have all day, you know. I'd like to take a shower to clean off all this dirt, blood and sweat on me, and my stomach's sticking to my backbone," she grumbled irritably. _

_ Carth started guiltily, and began to clean the long blade wounds still bleeding sluggishly on her back with a wipe, the scabs having been repeatedly broken by her constant motion. Her skin was pleasantly cool to the touch, and he couldn't see any sign she was blushing; although _he_, on the other hand, had a face that felt like it was on fire. _

_ Revan didn't cry out at the stinging of the antiseptic on her open wounds, just twitched slightly. The only indications that she was enduring the harsh burn were her hands gripping the sheets in a white-knuckled hold, and the shivering twitches in her skin when he touched her. He tried to be as gentle as he could while also moving swiftly; the acrid odor of the antiseptic mixed with the scent of sweat and the metallic tang of blood. The fragrance of salty ocean joined with the other smells when he applied kolto to her back and sides before plastering on the waterproof adhesive bandages to cover the injuries. He was obscurely glad she wasn't the screaming, squeamish type; he didn't know how to handle hysterical women. _

_ "Okay, I'm done," Carth said, sitting back and checking his handiwork with a critical eye, making sure he wasn't looking at anything else--or trying not to, anyway. He draped her dirty, ripped undershirt gently over her shoulders, feeling disappointed at the obscured view, but she had to be feeling cold in their climate control-broken apartment. He shook himself; he'd promised not to ogle her, he told himself sternly as he gathered the dirtied wipes into a pile and took up the empty kolto packages. She was certainly easy on the eyes.... _Very_ easy on the eyes... _

_ Revan relaxed slightly and turned; Carth hastily looked away, his cheeks burning again, choosing instead to rummage in his pack to tally up the equipment they'd taken off the Vulkars' bodies. He heard the noises of packaging being opened; he guessed she was taking the wipes to clean the wounds on her front. _

_ "Uh, I, uh, I'm just going to hit the 'fresher myself, and, um, clean up, since I'm just as dirty and sweaty as you are," Carth babbled, wincing when his words implied that she was a stinky mess, when she wasn't. She didn't smell that bad, actually, but he'd rather take on another swoop gang all by himself than admit it out loud. He wrenched his mind back on track with an effort. _

_ "Okay. I think I should be finished by the time you're cleaned up," Revan said agreeably. She didn't sound so cranky anymore, to his relief. _

_ Carth took out a change of clothes from his pack; the cleaning hamper in their hideout's refresher was none too functional, and was likely to eat anything they put in it. He was nearly to the refresher door when her voice stopped him; he nearly turned around to face her before he remembered that she was exposed. _

_ "Carth?" she said. _

_ Carth turned his head slightly to acknowledge her. "Yes?" _

_ There was a pause, then she said, "Thanks." _

_ "Uh, you're welcome," he replied, then escaped into the refresher for an extra long, extra _cold_ shower. _

Carth sighed, and turned the water knobs off. He was going to need another cold shower, the way his thoughts were going. He stepped out of the shower, then sighed again in disgust when he realized no amount of contorting would let him get his hands anywhere near where the Zabrak had hit him. He could just see the edges of the blue bruises forming on his back out of the corner of his eye, when he twisted his head around to look behind him into the mirror. No one was there to help him, alas; there was a distinct lack of a nimble-fingered Jedi around. Heh, not that he'd need the salve in the first place if there _was_ a Jedi around.

He decided to put the salve on bandages, and maneuvered the thin strips over his back like a towel to position them in the right places. It took him several frustrating tries, but he managed it. But all of his meticulous work was undone when a beep sounded from his datapad, and the bandages went flying when he pounced on it, nearly dropping it when it slipped through his salve-slick fingers. Visions of all sorts of disasters rampaged in all their gory glory through his frantic mind. He'd had the pad set to monitor the news for anything unusual, such as explosions or assassinations, or any trouble a certain Jedi and an ex-Sith teenager could get themselves into. The sheer number of possibilities had boggled his mind at the time he'd set the alarm, and _all_ of the scenarios he'd envisioned were hair-raising.

_Dammit, I should never have left them alone, I should never have gone on this stupid undercover mission_, Carth babbled in his mind as his anxious eyes skimmed down the text on his pad. _I--huh?_ He frowned and scratched his still-wet head as he thumbed through it. The only unusual item it had found was news of an industrial accident on the Vosaryk shipyard.

Since there was no mention of the _Ebon Hawk/Skydancer_, smugglers, nor a ship with the _Ebon Hawk's_ colors, Carth shrugged and put the pad back down. It was a breaking news headline, with details to follow a few hours later, so he'll check again after he'd finished exploring. He tried to still his racing heart, feeling the adrenaline still pumping through his veins at the thought that something had happened to Dustil and Revan.

Even when he was far from her, Revan had the ability to drive him absolutely crazy, he thought ruefully, picking the bandages back up. He wondered how his lover and his son were getting along.

Probably like a house on fire, Carth thought whimsically.

* * *

With thanks Prisoner24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback.

Sorry I'm so late, guys; I had to go and buy a new monitor, then I got distracted by my new Palm m125 PDA that I plan to use to write my fic when I'm away from my computer. I'm not sure if the next chapter will be on time, but hopefully it will.

icey cold: Thanks! And welcome back! Yes, well, when Revan and Carth have an argument, I should pull out all the stops, no? You should enjoy Carth's thought bubbles in this chapter, hehee. And lots of good Carth action!

Kazic: Aw, thanks. But you deserved that cliffhanger, waiting until I had fifty chapters to review! :p :proceeds to go kill Dustil's sweetie...: (Just kidding. Or am I? No, really!)

schmoopy: Heh.

Prisoner 24601: You want me to hit triple digits? :o You realize a year has only 52 weeks... Funny enough, I've never seen a single episode of CSI. Quality time... does it count when you're unconscious? :D

snackfiend101: I command thee to review chapter 49! Yes, just how would Carth react when he finds out...?

KabeXX: Aw, thanks. Incidentally, she's not always dressed in white, that's the color for mourning on Sluis Van. Well, _my_ version of Sluis Van, anyway.

Firera: Nah, never seen CSI. Yeah, Carth's gonna be pissed...

Nyvanna: Cool, thanks. It was only what the boy deserved, making me tear out all that hair writing his chapters... :grumble:

Feza: Okay, I got the interrogation book today, I'll see what I can do to spruce it up.

Menolly Onasi: Heh. Thanks.

Krazed Kaioshin Fangirl: Thanks, you lazy bum. :) Like the sayings go, "Familiarity breeds contempt" and "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." Caught you by surprise, didn't I? :D

Lunatic Pandora1: Hope I keep you guessing.

VMorticia: I didn't want to go on about the technology behind the lenses, since it's rather irrelevant, but I bet in the Star Wars universe you could get lenses that could disguise your real retinas. White is the color of mourning in Asian cultures. Lady Versenne wasn't saying that because she looked forward to torturing someone, but rather so that she wouldn't get a sanitized report. No, ain't tellin' what those several things Dustil thought of were; besides, you have your own rather Dark Sided, fertile imagination to rely on, no? :p There's a difference between seeing a stiff nekkid on a slab, and seeing a corpse where it lay after it's been dead a while. I'm guessing Dustil wouldn't be used to seeing a corpse so clinically; kinda like the difference between seeing a cooked chicken and actually seeing the bird while being prepared, from the beheading to the, ah, extraction of the innards.


	52. Trapped

**Chapter 52: Trapped**

_ Dustil was stuck. _

_ Daddy had told him not to come here and play. It was dangerous, Daddy had said, a frown making lines on his face, around his nose and on his forehead. Daddy had looked so stern and serious when he'd picked him up and carried him here to the ravine, pointing with his free hand at the huge stones at the bottom that shone in the sunlight. _

_ Little flecks of gold and silver had winked at Dustil from the broad expanses of their weathered, gray faces, like hidden jewels. The shininess had fascinated Dustil. They were like the stars, only he couldn't touch the sky. But he _could_ touch these... _

_ Dustil wished he'd listened to Daddy. He'd exhausted himself crying hours ago, and he was so cold and thirsty; he'd finished his water bottle hours ago, too. He was stuck between two large rocks, and his hands were scraped bloody from trying to pull himself out against them, but he had no leverage. His knees hurt, too, like his hands, and they were really, really cold. They hurt the most, actually, because he'd been resting on them, on sharp rocks, for as long as he'd been stuck. His throat hurt, too, because he'd yelled and yelled and yelled, for Daddy, for Mommy, but no one had come to help him. _

_ It was all his fault, of course, Dustil admitted it despondently. He shouldn't have gone out all by himself, and he hadn't even told Mommy he'd gone. She'd been too busy working to notice that he'd slipped out with his pack, so she didn't know he'd snuck off and she didn't know where he was. _

_ Shivering from the cold, Dustil tried again to pull himself out, but the harsh, gritty stone just scraped more of the skin off his already-raw palms and fingers. Blood made them slick, and he'd been wiping his snot and tears on them, so that he couldn't gain any purchase, anyway. _

_ Dustil stared up at the darkening sky, the approaching night making the limbs of the leafy trees at the edge of the ravine look like grasping claws and sharp talons against the fading sunlight. It was getting dark, he thought with a small hiccup of fear. The stony ravine had looked so inviting in the afternoon, when he'd come here to explore. It cleaved through the rolling, grassy range of hills, a white gash that marked an old, old riverbed. In the spring, it roared with flash floods, which tumbled all the rocks at the bottom into new configurations every season. _

_ But it was autumn now, and flash floods almost never happened once the leaves had turned all the shades of gold, orange and red, even though most of the colorful leaves still clung tenaciously to their tree limbs, this early in the season. He'd climbed carefully down, slipping heartstoppingly on the pebbles and loose scree until he'd reached the bottom. He'd come to the ravine before, once or twice, always feeling scared that he was disobeying Daddy and Mommy, but illicitly thrilled, too, at doing something expressly forbidden. _

_ This was the first time he'd actually gone down into the ravine, though, the first time he'd ever dared to. But he'd been so mad... Daddy had told him he couldn't come to the hoverball match Dustil would be playing in next week. Daddy had to go back to his ship because his home leave had been cut short, to go fight in the wars again. _

_ Which was why Dustil was in the ravine, deliberately flouting his parents' stern warnings to never, ever play here. _

_ Dustil wished he'd listened to them, when the tall pillar of rock he'd been crouching next to had shifted suddenly, while he'd been bent down to pick at some shiny round pebbles in the shadow of another tall boulder. He'd slipped and fallen to his knees, which had been all that'd saved him from being a crushed smear on their granite faces. Now he was wedged into a tiny space, with the boulder on his right, another rock in front of him, and the tall pillar pinning him on top. The pebbles and tiny flakes of rock, which had been so fascinating and diverting when he'd been rooting through them, were now cruelly poking into his knees and shins, digging into the skin of his knees until his pants were torn and they were bloody. His boots were all that protected his feet and shins from the same fate. _

_ Shivering again, Dustil hunched, sticking his hands into his armpits to warm them when the wind blew through the tree branches, making them rattle against each other ominously, and cutting right through his thin jacket until it felt like cold knives were slicing him to ribbons. He really, really, really wished he'd listened to Daddy. _

_ Daddy was probably on his ship by now, though, Dustil thought sadly, and a little bitterly angry. It would be just what Daddy deserved, if Dustil died here, because he was away with the stupid fleet. The thought seemed to make the darkness even more menacing, though. _

_ He tried to remember if Telosian tawnywolves ventured in this close to the colony in the season. Tawnywolves drew near the colony only when it had been a particularly bitter winter, and there was absolutely nothing for them to hunt, but he'd heard their piping cries at night, echoing across the forests. It had been a familiar, comforting sound when he lay in bed, listening, but now the thought of the golden-eyed predators wandering around somewhere nearby made Dustil's mouth dry and cold sweat break out on his face. Daddy had given him a stunner pistol, sized for his small hands, but he didn't think it would impress a tawnywolf very much, much less a pack of them, but he found the cool weight of it at his hip a comfort anyway. _

_ Despite the comfort of the pistol, he bit back another sob, his sore throat feeling raspy, and every breath made it hurt, going both in and out. Never had he felt so lonely and so insignificant, all alone in the vast wilderness. _

_ Closing his eyes, too miserable, cold, exhausted and hungry, Dustil wiped the tears away angrily and gulped a loud sob, sniffling. He leaned on the cold rock, the rough surface stealing more of his body heat away, but he was too tired to care anymore. He couldn't hold himself up and away from the rock, putting all his weight on his aching knees, long enough to keep himself off to make any difference. He was getting colder and colder, and he was getting so sleepy... _

_ It was the sound of his name being shouted through loudspeakers that made Dustil look up from his hypothermia-induced lethargy. He blinked heavy eyelids that felt weighted down with sandbags, and looked blearily around the limited view his rockfall trap left him. His eyes widened and his heart leapt up to see lights cast from powerful speeder lamps, and became aware of the quiet roars of speeder and swoop engines. The voice calling his name was Daddy's! The lights swept around, running over the broken rocks, blinding Dustil as the glare reflected back from the white debris, and made him realize full dark had fallen. _

_ "Mommy! Mommy! Daddy! Daddy!" Dustil shouted through his chattering teeth, his voice sounding shrill and thin; he was afraid he wouldn't be heard over the sounds of the engines and the loudspeakers. The thought made him panic and shout louder, his voice cracking painfully as he called. _

_ Daddy must've heard him, because the doubled spotlight nimbus of one particular speeder grew swiftly smaller and sharper, until Dustil saw Daddy's bright red speeder coming down recklessly fast to land on the rocks in front of him. The repulsorlift cushion sent pebbles and gravel flying, scattering them noisily; the wind of the landing blew debris and fallen leaves towards Dustil, pelting his face with dust and grit. Dustil didn't mind, though, not when he saw Daddy hop out of the driver's seat, Mommy right behind him, both of them slipping and sliding on the loose pebbles and gravel as they ran to his trapped shelter of rocks. _

_ "Mommy! Mommy!" Dustil cried through his raw throat at the approaching figures; they looked dark and surreal, shifting and shadowy from the speeder lights shining down intermittently on them. _

_ Daddy was the first to reach him. "Dustil!" Daddy cried, a mixture of anger, relief and fear making his voice crack, too. He dropped to his knees in front of Dustil and cupped Dustil's face in his hands; Daddy's big, warm hands felt wonderful on his cold cheeks. _

_ Dustil was shocked and shaken to see tears making wet trails down his father's face, even through the fog of exhaustion that made his vision blurry. Or maybe it was his own tears blurring everything. _Daddy doesn't cry... he's, he's _Daddy_!

_ Daddy turned his head to look over his shoulder. "Jordo, over here! We've got to get this thing off him!" he called, taking away one hand from Dustil to wave frantically at someone before turning back to Dustil. "Dustil, are you okay? Is anything broken?" Daddy asked anxiously, trying to check for himself. _

_ "N-n-no," Dustil answered, his teeth clacking against each other as he shivered. _

_ "He must be dehydrated, Carth," Dustil heard Mommy say in a low, worried voice. _

_ "Yeah, and he's cold, too," Daddy said, sounding just as worried as his rough, callused hands felt Dustil quickly but carefully, reaching into the limited space as much as he could. _

_ The third person who had hopped out of Daddy's speeder, the one Dustil hadn't seen because he'd been hidden by Daddy and Mommy, resolved itself into the familiar figure of Daddy's friend, Jordo. Jordo cursed under his breath when he slid and slipped over to stand next to Daddy. _

_ "Hi, Dustil!" Jordo took the time to crouch and greet Dustil with a reassuring grin, the lights of the speeders making his teeth gleam whitely in his dark-complexioned face. "We'll get you out of there in a jiff!" _

_ "Hold on, Dustil, we'll get you out of there," Daddy said as he wiped at his face with the back of one hand, letting go of Dustil and standing. _

_ Mommy took Daddy's place, kneeling in front of Dustil and hugging him as best she could through the cramped space, and pressed kisses all over his dirty face. "Oh, Dustil, you worried me sick, running off like this without telling me!" _

_ "Mommy!" Dustil couldn't help sobbing on Mommy's shoulder in relief as he clutched her tightly; he was too relieved and too tired to mind Mommy kissing him like that. Mommy's special scent, the comforting smells of earth and growing plants, surrounded him, and he could smell it even through his clogged nose; he realized Mommy hadn't even changed her clothes after working in her lab. Her own face was also wet with tears, and her eyes were puffy, seen in the backwash of light from the other speeders. Dustil felt bad, terribly, terribly guilty and ashamed, seeing that. _

_ Mommy rustled, then Dustil heard the welcome sounds of sloshing liquid. "Here, honey," Mommy said, pressing a small squeeze bottle of water into his hand. "Take small sips, don't gulp it all down in one go. Dustil, you're going to be okay, alright? We'll get you out of this soon," Mommy whispered reassuringly to him, her voice only slightly wobbly as she chafed his free hand with her warm ones. Dustil tried to burrow into Mommy's warm bulk, he was so cold. _

_ The other speeders and swoops were landing by now, their spotlights focused on Dustil's pile of rocks. Dustil could hardly see through the blinding white glare, which made everything beyond the circles of light all dark, not that he'd been able to see anything clearly anymore, once the sun had set and cast the ravine into shadow. He couldn't even see the trees anymore, his eyes were so dazzled, but he thought he recognized Telosian militia vehicles. _

_ "Wow, it's a big rock, Carth," Jordo commented as he bent to look at the rock lying on top of Dustil carefully. _

_ "No kidding," Daddy snapped sarcastically. Daddy didn't wait for the others to land and help him; he'd been hurriedly examining the rock, running his hands over it and muttering under his breath. _

_ "Morgana, get ready to pull Dustil out when we lift this thing," Daddy called to Mommy over the sounds of the engines and thumps of the other vehicles landing in the narrow ravine. _

_ Mommy just nodded her head, her long, curly brown hair tickling Dustil's nose. "I'll be ready, Carth. Go ahead." She took a firm hold of Dustil's arms; Dustil wrapped his numbed hands as best he could around Mommy's arms, grasping thick bunches of her shirtsleeves, his fingers feeling so clumsy. At least being so cold meant he could hardly feel the pain from his scraped hands and knees. _

_ "Here, Jordo, you stand over here and push, and I'll stand here. On the count of three, alright?" Daddy said to Jordo. "One, two, three!" _

_ Dustil heard Daddy and Jordo grunt, and felt the rock pinning him down shiver and move. Daddy was standing at the narrow end of the pillar, on Dustil's right, but he couldn't see anything but one of Daddy's legs, and he couldn't see Jordo at all; Daddy's shiny black boot threw reflections of the spotlights into Dustil's eyes. Dustil could hear the tramping of feet on the rocks, and the sounds of muffled cursing as they slipped on the treacherous, shifting surface, rattling rocks and pebbles. _

_ The pressure on Dustil's back eased suddenly, and there was the scraping noise of rock moving against rock. The muscles in Daddy's leg bunched, then Daddy's foot slowly slid as he grunted. Mommy pulled Dustil out of the now-widened space, into her arms. Dustil cried out as the cruel rocks clawed at his scraped knees, then he was buried in Mommy's warm arms. _

_ "Oh, honey, you're so cold!" Mommy exclaimed in an anxious, worried voice. Dustil could only nod, his teeth were chattering so badly he couldn't even speak, and he shook with cold and relief now that he'd been rescued from a slow death. _

_ There was the huge crash of a rock on the pebble-strewn ground, making the stones and gravel clack against each other and startling Dustil into jumping. Something thick, smelling of worn leather and Daddy, was wrapped around him, then Dustil was enveloped in strong arms, the scratchy stubble on his father's face prickling his cheeks. Dustil buried his face in the crook of Daddy's neck and wrapped his arms around him, soaking up Daddy's body heat as he was carried to the speeder. He felt the hair on the top of his head being ruffled by Daddy's breathing, and his right hand taken into Mommy's smaller, smoother hand. _

_ "You are in _so_ much trouble, Dustil," Daddy said into the top of Dustil's head, the whiskers on Daddy's chin scratching and tickling Dustil's brow as he spoke. "You're going to be grounded for a good long time." The tone of Daddy's voice was rather at odds with how tightly he was holding Dustil. _

_ There were inquiring shouts ahead, the tramping of boots and bangs as the division of Telosian militia brought their equipment and tried to move towards them on the ravine slopes. _

_ "He's okay!" Daddy shouted at the militia in answer. "He's just cold and dehydrated!" he continued, calling to the approaching sounds of boots and raised voices shouting questions. "Thanks for helping me find him, guys. Come on over to my house after your shifts are over for beer and food, okay?" _

_ There was a chorus of cheers from the search and rescue teams, and shouts of "Don't mention it!", "Just doing our jobs!" and "No problem!"; Dustil didn't look up to see, just heard them and the sounds of their boots on the loose rocks, like thousands of rolling dice as they turned around to head for their own vehicles. _

_ "I'll drive, Carth, Morgana," Jordo said to Daddy and Mommy when they'd reached the speeder. _

_ "Thank you, Jordo," Mommy said gratefully. _

_ Daddy's scratchy chin rubbed against Dustil's cheek as he nodded. "Thanks, Jordo, you're a lifesaver." _

_ "I thought you went back to your ship," Dustil mumbled into Daddy's ear; he was warm enough now to speak without his teeth chattering. _

_ "I was," Daddy agreed. "But Mommy called my shuttle and I came back as fast as I could." He shifted Dustil with one hand to open the door to get into the back of the speeder. Mommy slid into the backseat, moving awkwardly because she wouldn't let go of Dustil's hand. _

_ Daddy settled into his seat, the cover creaking as he shifted his weight around to sit more comfortably. Dustil heard Mommy sit next to Daddy, then the canopy whirred down to click into place, enclosing them all in the warm air coming from the speeder's heater. _

_ Mommy grabbed Dustil immediately from Daddy once they were in the backseat, and buried her face into his hair. Dustil hid his face in Mommy's vest, relief warring with fear, uncertainty and anxiety, wondering what punishment they would give him for running off without telling anyone. His right hand was taken into a large, callused hand. _

_ "You worried your mother sick with this stunt of yours, do you know that?" Daddy admonished Dustil sternly, turning him around and grasping his chin to look into his face. _

_ Dustil nodded guiltily, feeling too ashamed to meet Daddy's eyes, staring down at his scratched and skinned hands instead. He must've caused Daddy a lot of trouble, to call the militia out to search for him, and to leave his ship. A tiny part of Dustil couldn't help feeling pleased about that. _

_ Daddy took the empty squeeze bottle from Dustil's limp hand; Dustil couldn't remember finishing it, but he still felt thirsty. _

_ "Here, drink this slowly. Little sips, okay?" Daddy cautioned, handing Dustil another squeeze bottle of water, found after a thorough rummage through the backseat storage compartment. Dustil obediently and meekly did so, because he was really that thirsty. It took effort to keep to sips and not gulp down the whole bottle at once. _

_ "Carth, Dustil's hands and knees are all scraped and dirty," Mommy said worriedly to Daddy, catching hold of Dustil's free hand. _

_ Daddy nodded and took out the medkit from the compartment, opened it and placed it on the seat next to him. "I'll take care of it." Dustil watched while Daddy tsked over his free hand and cleaned it gently with wet wipes from the medkit. _

_ Daddy held up the antiseptic wipes over Dustil's hand and said, "This'll hurt for just a second, Dustil..." _

_ Dustil couldn't help but let out a pained squeak as Daddy put antiseptic on his hand and cleaned it thoroughly with a wipe. Daddy hurriedly dabbed ocean-smelling kolto goop on Dustil's hand and bandaged it; Dustil went limp and sobbed quietly on Mommy's shoulder, feeling her rub his back soothingly. A whiskery, scratchy kiss on his forehead told him Daddy didn't mind at all that he'd cried out. _

_ "Shh, Dustil," Daddy murmured comfortingly into his ear, the stubble on his face tickling it. "I've got to do your other hand and your knees, okay? Do you think you can stand it? Or should we wait until we get you home and to a doctor?" he asked Dustil seriously. _

_ Dustil hesitated, feeling a great deal of trepidation, but also a little gratified that Daddy had actually given him a choice. But a doctor would be cold, and would mind if he cried... "Now," he said, deciding. He sniffed with a stopped-up nose, making a yucky sound in the confined space of the speeder. _

_ Daddy's hand disappeared into his uniform tunic, then out came a handkerchief as if by magic. Daddy's warm hand clamped the smooth, clean fabric to Dustil's nose. "Blow," Daddy commanded. _

_ Dustil obediently did so, as hard as he could, making a loud honking sound; he felt slightly better for having cleared his nasal passages a little, but his nose was still stuffed up. He sneezed, and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. _

_ Daddy folded away the corner that Dustil had just blown into, and wiped Dustil's face gently with the clean part of the handkerchief. "Now, finish your water," Daddy said. "I'm gonna do your other hand now, and then your knees, okay?" _

_ Nodding, Dustil shifted the squeeze bottle to his now-bandaged hand clumsily. "O-okay." _

_ Daddy smiled. "That's my brave boy," he said, and tousled Dustil's hair; Dustil was too tired to mind. _

_ Mommy made a little noise of protest and shifted Dustil. Daddy raised his eyebrows inquiringly. "Dustil, you have your pistol," Mommy said with a frown, rubbing at her side where Dustil's stunner had dug into her ribs. _

_ "Uh..." Dustil said guiltily, caught out. He'd forgotten about his pistol completely; now he didn't have an explanation for it. He should've hidden it in his pack the moment Daddy and Mommy had found him, but he'd been too cold, tired and miserable to remember. _

_ It was Daddy's turn to frown. "Wait a minute. I know I locked it up when I left. Did you...?" Daddy said, turning to Mommy. _

_ "No!" Mommy said, shaking her head at Daddy. "I know it was locked up in the safe, I watched you do it, so how...?" Mommy held Dustil out so that he couldn't hide his face in her vest. "Dustil, how did you get your pistol?" she asked sternly, tilting Dustil's chin up so that he had to look her in the eye. _

_ Dustil squirmed around in her lap. "Uh..." he vacillated, wilting under the stern sharpness in her hazel eyes. _

_ "Dustil, answer the question," Daddy prompted, his voice deceptively mild as his frown deepened, lines radiating around his nose and on his forehead. _

_ Seeing no way out and unable to think of a plausible excuse in time, Dustil admitted in a fast mumble, "I opened the safe." _

_ "How did you get the passcode?" Daddy asked, bemused and taken aback. _

_ Dustil shrank into Mommy's lap under Daddy's stern gaze. "Uh... I... I overheard it," he muttered, his answer nearly a whisper. _

_ Daddy's eyes met Mommy's; Dustil looked up to see her frown at Daddy abstractedly. "Uh, maybe I shouldn't have gotten him a pistol after all," Daddy said to Mommy sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. _

_ Mommy shook her head. "If he had to get lost in the woods, I suppose I'd prefer him to be armed with a stunner, at least," she said reluctantly, frowning down at Dustil. Dustil looked down and stared at his bandaged hands, not daring to say anything when he knew he was down deep-deep in bantha poodoo. _

_ Daddy sighed and chuckled ruefully. "Well, I guess I'd better install a more decent lock on that safe, one that scans prints, maybe." He joined Mommy in staring down at Dustil with an equally quelling frown on his face. "You are in _so_ much trouble, young man." _

_ Dustil hunched sullenly in Mommy's lap, but prudently decided not to say anything. _

_ "This had better not happen again, Dustil," Mommy said in her sternest tones, lifting Dustil's chin again. _

_ "No," Dustil said in a very low mumble, twisting his fingers around each other nervously. _

_ In tones of thoughtful speculation, Daddy murmured, "I don't know... your mother and I both told you never to play in the ravine, but you went there anyway. Maybe we should get the doctor to put a tracker into your skin." He turned to Mommy and asked seriously, "What do you think?" _

_ Dustil stared at Daddy, speechless with mortified horror. Only pets and farm animals got tagged with trackers like that... what would his friends say if they ever found out? He would never live it down! "No!" he cried. _

_ Mommy looked thoughtfully down at Dustil, the corners of her lips twitching very slightly. "Hm, maybe we should, Carth. It would make finding him a lot easier..." _

_ Dustil gaped up at her, aghast. "Mommy, no!" He squirmed around and tugged at her arms frantically. _

_ "Settle down, son," Daddy said, putting his large hand on Dustil's shoulder. "We'll let this go, but if you ever do this again, we'll tag you. No exceptions," he said, his brown eyes narrowing and growing stern. _

_ "I won't do it again, I promise," Dustil said hastily. He looked away from the worry still shadowing Mommy's face, unable to bear seeing Mommy looking so scared. _

_ Mommy pursed her lips as she looked down at him. "Your word on it?" _

_ Dustil nodded reluctantly. Well, so much for trying to weasel out of the restriction; he couldn't do it now, not after he'd given his word. And he really shouldn't worry Mommy like that anymore. _

_ Dustil was so tired he actually nodded off a little after drinking his fill, but was jarred out of his nap when the speeder landed, and he was taken into Daddy's arms and carried out. He was muzzily aware of being put into his own bed, and tucked in tenderly. _

_ The sounds of Mommy and Daddy murmuring over his head lulled Dustil into a deep sleep. _

_Dustil._

Dustil tried to shrug the annoying, persistent voice away, not wanting to wake up yet. He was safe, safe in his little cocoon of warm darkness. There was going to be something bad when he woke up. Bad things. Pain. Confusion. Fear. He tried to curl in on himself tighter, wrapping himself in the darkness, burrowing into it like a tauntaun digging into a snowbank.

_Dustil!_

_Go away_, Dustil thought irritably. He pulled the darkness over his head like a blanket. _Go away. Don' wanna wake up._

_Dustil! Dustil! Dustil!_

Dustil's irritation grew and his temper frayed with every shout in his ear. Not even digging down deeper into his cocoon and blankets could shut out the noise. _Dammit, what's a guy gotta do to get some sleep around here, for the Force's sake?_

_DUSTIL!_

That particularly loud shout made Dustil lose his temper completely. _Alright, alright, I'm up, dammit!_ Dustil thought angrily, and threw off the layers of the warm, safe cocoon he'd enveloped himself in.

And immediately regretted it as pain shuddered through his body, particularly sharp and agonizing in his right arm and left side.

"Stiller, Stiller!"

_Dustil! Dustil!_

Someone was shaking him and slapping at his face. Dustil groaned and tried to bat the annoying hands away, but doing that sent a truly painful spike up his right arm, and he couldn't help crying out.

"Stiller!"

It was Lady Versenne's voice, Dustil realized muzzily. He grimaced from the pain, then opened his gummy eyes with some difficulty. "'M here," he croaked. He blinked and tried to clear away the cobwebs from his mind, but he couldn't seem to clear the blurriness from his eyes. Talking hurt. _Breathing_ hurt, his every inhalation and exhalation jarring his left side and right arm.

A dimly-seen gray oval swam into view. "Stiller?"

"Muh." Dustil tried to get his thick tongue working. He squinted down at himself; he lay prone on his back, but he could hardly see, it was so dark. A tiny spot up in the sky--no, it was the ceiling?--let down a small, dim shift of light, gray and diffused. "You 'kay?" he asked through a dry, dusty throat.

Lady Versenne leaned closer, and Dustil finally was able to see her clearly. Her upside-down face was smudged with grime and dirt, and her hair had come loose, flying wispily around her head, tickling his face when one strand brushed his cheeks. She held her left side, her left arm cradled against her body, and her face was pinched with pain, the way she had looked the day they'd rescued her from kidnappers. He could barely see her, even though she was close enough for him to smell her perfume. Just where the hell were they?

"I, I think my left arm is broken," Lady Versenne said breathlessly, as if she, too, were having trouble with painful breathing. "We dropped and hit things on the way down. I think only the foam padding of the insulation saved us from being killed outright."

Dustil blinked again and frowned. The durasteel pillars were actually not spaced all that narrowly apart. It was fallen debris that hemmed them in; they both sat in the middle of a miraculously cleared area, surrounded by pieces of durasteel pylons, broken viewscreens, wires and cables. If either of them had landed on the broken, spiky mess, they'd both be considerably more injured, if not dead. It couldn't have been an accident they'd landed this way, Dustil's muzzy brain concluded. Their extremely close call and narrow escape turned his blood cold, making him shiver painfully.

So what he'd thought was his broken, hallucinatory memory wasn't, in fact, a hallucination. He'd thought he'd glimpsed, for a split second, tongues and tendrils of fiery white Force energy grasping them and slowing their fall, and grabbing at the falling debris around them. It had to have been Revan who'd used the Force to save him and Lady Versenne from being impaled or crushed to death. He was too exhausted and wracked with pain to feel resentful about that, just glad that he was alive, and Lady Versenne was alive.

_So no, not _just_ the foam padding_, Dustil thought. Now he knew why Revan's mental voice had sounded so tired, and why she wasn't talking to him like that right now. He wondered if she was hurt, too, surprising himself with that thought.

Foam and insulation explained the soft stuff Dustil could feel underneath him. "Wha' happened? Where we?" Dustil asked, wincing as his attempt to sit up sent pain piercing through his stomach. He panted shallowly in an attempt to ease the pain. He couldn't seem to raise his head; his neck felt like it was tied down with weights. So did his feet and hands. Cold sweat trickled down from his hair and face, tickling and irritating him.

He blinked, trying to chase the dizziness away and ease his blurry eyes. The days of using centrifugal forces to create artificial gravity on space stations and ships were long past, so why was the view revolving gently? He closed his eyes and fought his nausea down. Puking would be messy and would really hurt right now. Not to mention that it would totally gross out Lady Versenne. The thought was strangely funny, and he had to stifle a giggle, lest Lady Versenne think him mad.

"I don't know," Lady Versenne replied worriedly, looking up at the dim shaft of light. "I think we are in the crawlspace between support pillars."

Dustil could hear clangs and the sounds of metal scraping on metal, all of it reverberating down into their space. He could feel the faint vibrations of the impacts, even lying on top of the pile of foam insulation. He squinted up at the light, and thought he saw figures moving, obscuring the view. There were spiderwebs of what he supposed were insulation foam and webbing dangling across in the dimness, and dust motes danced in dizzying patterns. The space they were in was very cramped, since they were in what amounted to four walls made of debris.

"Gah ligh' in pogget," Dustil said thickly, pointing weakly in his vest pocket with his chin. It was one of the lights that could be attached to the tops of his blasters, and was small but fairly powerful.

Lady Versenne took her supporting arm away from her broken one, wincing as she did so, and gingerly felt in his vest pocket for the light. She slid it out and turned it on, waving it around their surroundings. There wasn't much to see, though, just dusty gray-foamed durasteel pillars.

"'ow long?" Dustil asked, propping his head back on... whatever it was resting on. _Her lap_, he realized suddenly.

Just lifting his head required an effort similar to that of carrying a capital ship around on a heavy-gravity world. It was a damned shame he couldn't appreciate the view and his position, not when he hurt this much. His brief glimpse showed him his right arm was definitely broken in at least three places, though. His stomach and left side felt like a sheet of fire, and breathing hurt, so maybe he had some broken or cracked ribs. Since he wasn't coughing up blood, his lungs were fortunately not punctured. At least, he didn't think they were. Coughing, in any case, would be agonizing. Force, he was thirsty, he thought as he licked his Tatooine-dry lips.

Lady Versenne put the light on the broken-off stub of a durasteel pylon and fiddled with her necklace with nervous anxiety. "I don't know, but I think we were both unconscious for about ten or fifteen minutes."

Had it been that long? Dustil pondered sitting up, but that would mean leaving Lady Versenne's lap, and possibly aggravating his injuries further. Hadn't his father said something about not sitting up if he suspected there was internal bleeding? Wait, did they know they were still alive? Revan knew--she had to be the one who'd kept shouting into his mind, but did the others? Captain Morin and Bekim and the guards, did they still live? Or had the pillar crushed them all?

"'munigador." Dustil's thick tongue tried and failed to say 'communicator' coherently. Dammit, it was on his right wrist, which was attached to a broken right arm.

His mumble must've been understandable enough, because Lady Versenne said reassuringly, "I've already told them. They're coming for us now." She showed him her discreet commlink, disguised as a tastefully exquisite jewel necklace, before tucking it back into her besmirched robe.

Dustil was relieved to hear that. "Odders?" he asked, cursing his dumb-sounding speech.

"Captain Morin and Bekim were both badly injured, but I do not believe your captain was," Lady Versenne answered, a line forming on her brow at the news of her retainers being hurt. "At least, I do not believe she would threaten to decapitate my guards if they tried to bring her to the medical bay against her will, if she were," she added bemusedly. "She insists on staying until they've brought us up."

Despite himself, Dustil grinned. That sounded like her, alright.

_Dustil_, came Revan's voice in his head.

Dammit, why couldn't she use her damned communicator like everyone else? Dustil thought irritably. There was no need for communications silence here. On the other hand, he'd have to lift his right arm to use it, and it felt like a bantha was sitting on it. A really _fat_ bantha.

_Dustil, we're coming down to get you and Lady Versenne, but it's taking a while because we don't want to bring anything more down onto your heads. The Force must've been with you, since nothing fell down after you did. I'm very glad you're alright. Try to stay awake._

Dustil wished the Force had been with him enough to cushion his fall a bit more; he could've done without the broken arm and ribs. Although he supposed they really _had_ been lucky to survive a fall from such a height, with only broken bones out of it. Their injuries could've been much more severe. The thought was not that comforting, though, not when he hurt so much.

Sighing inwardly, Dustil resolved to set aside his pride and ask Revan for lessons in healing with the Force; if he knew that skill, he could at least heal some of his minor wounds, or stabilize his internal injuries. Or at least ease some of the awful pain. His eyelids drooped, and he opened them again only with a huge effort. It couldn't be normal for him to feel so sleepy... and he hadn't thought about that time he'd been trapped in the ravine for years. What had his father said about that? He tried to remember, but even the effort of just _thinking_ was hard.

_You alright, son?_

_Daddy?_

Dustil blinked, thinking he'd just seen Father in the space with him and Lady Versenne, his face looking worried and concerned. _I'm hallucinating_, Dustil thought with some alarm. Father couldn't possibly be with them in there, since he had to still be undercover in House Sayir, and hadn't been with him and Revan on their trip to the shipyard. Not to mention that the space was much too small to accommodate Dustil and Lady Versenne as it was; it couldn't possibly hold Carth, too.

A hallucination wasn't a good sign; hadn't his father said it was a symptom of low blood pressure? Or was it dehydration? Dustil's brow wrinkled as he tried to recall his father's long-ago lessons in survival. Low blood pressure could be caused by lots of things, but none of them seemed applicable to their situation right now... It was hard to think; his thoughts felt like tachs trapped in kinrath webs. And he felt cold, really cold, but it should've been comfortably warm. Lady Versenne didn't look as cold as he felt. Shivering would hurt. A lot.

A touch on his head made him open his eyes. Lady Versenne had clamped her sleeve in her one good hand and was gently mopping the sweat off his brow.

"Your skin feels very cold, and yet you are sweating," Lady Versenne commented worriedly, peering into his eyes. "And you look very pale," she added, shining the light on his face.

Not exactly the compliments he wanted to hear her say, but then again he probably didn't look his best right now. Brazen it out or admit to weakness? His Sith training told him he should show a stiff upper lip, but maybe he should play on her sympathy... _Dammit, that's Sith talk_, he admonished himself. _She's not a Sith that you have to challenge, like she's a strange kath hound._

"'m gonna be okay," Dustil said reassuringly, forcing a wan smile to his lips, and was secretly glad to hear his speech was finally clearing up. He hardly needed to sound like a Gamorrean to give a good impression.

"You saved me yet again, Stiller," Lady Versenne murmured wonderingly, brushing her fingers through his hair. "I am more than grateful... I owe you my life twice over now."

Dustil found the touch of her warm fingers on his cold brow rather soothing. It was just too damned bad he was hurt too damned badly to truly appreciate his position and the feeling.

He smiled self-deprecatingly with an effort. "'s my job," he said.

Dustil tried to sit up, and managed to make it to one elbow before it treacherously gave out on him, and he fell back against her lap. But not before his lips brushed accidentally against Lady Versenne's, his nose bumping into her cheek, because she'd been too startled by his move to shift her head out of the way quickly enough. His cheeks heated; they probably didn't need the light, because his face felt hot enough to glow in the dark. Lady Versenne's fingers stole up to her lips, then dropped to her broken arm, and her eyes stared fixedly up at the hole in the ceiling.

"Uh..." Dustil tried to think of something--anything--to say, but came up with nothing but a blank. Should he apologize? He didn't feel very sorry, just embarrassed that it had happened by accident. It was not the most smooth and suave thing he had ever done. _Uh, hey, let's do it again, get it right this time?_ would probably not go over well...

Lady Versenne looked back down at him, and it seemed that her cheeks were bright red, too. It was hard to tell in the dim light.

The sounds of humming above them made Lady Versenne look up, her loose hair tickling Dustil's face, interrupting whatever she might or might not have said. Dustil squinted up to see several holocameras hovering over them, and tried to decide if he felt relieved or disappointed at the interruption. Lady Versenne's communicator chirped.

"Yes?" Lady Versenne said, taking her necklace out again and depressing a jeweled button.

"My Lady," came the tinny, relieved voice of one of her guards; Dustil supposed it was Captain Morin's second-in-command. "I've got a medical team standing by, and Eskar is ready to come down. The holocameras will allow him to avoid bumping into obstacles, so please do not be alarmed. We'll be sending down a repulsorlift carrier with him to bring you up."

"No. You will bring Stiller up first," Lady Versenne commanded sternly. "He is the more badly injured of us."

Dustil shook his head. "No, you should go up first," he muttered. Lady Versenne shook her head at him, whether in disagreement or telling him to be quiet, he didn't know.

"But, my Lady--!" the guard protested. Futilely.

"Enough. Do not delay," Lady Versenne said curtly.

There was a pause, a puff of air, as if the guard had just sighed, then muttered a resigned, "Yes, my Lady" before the signal was shut off.

"There, he will soon have you brought up and into a bacta tank before you know it," Lady Versenne told Dustil briskly. Unfortunately, she didn't stroke his hair anymore, maybe because of the presence of the holocameras.

"You should've gone up first," Dustil protested weakly. The painful twinges in his side took some of the force out of his words, though.

Lady Versenne shook her head again, but anything she might've said was interrupted by the appearance of someone carefully navigating their way down, obscuring the light. It was one of the guards, shorn of his half armor and weapons, carrying a large, rolled up bundle on his back, and wearing a climbing harness that looked an awful lot like the one Revan wore. Lady Versenne waved her hand, sending the holocameras back up and out of the way.

It took several minutes for the guard to reach them and stand in the cramped space, finally straddling Dustil because there was just no room for the large guard to maneuver or stand anywhere else. A large light had been strapped to the guard's chest, blinding Dustil's and Lady Versenne's eyes.

"My Lady," the guard said, ducking his head respectfully at Lady Versenne.

"Eskar," Lady Versenne greeted her guard, polite and courteous as ever, even with her injuries paining her.

The human guard unslung a large medkit from a pack he had slung behind his back, and reached apologetically towards Lady Versenne.

Lady Versenne leaned unobligingly away. "No." She pointed down at Dustil. "Stiller first."

The guard's brow wrinkled in dismay, but apparently was too used to his recalcitrant charge to know that he would win. Carefully, he bent down over Dustil, who suffered himself to be gently prodded. A large, callused finger pushed one of Dustil's eyelids down, then moved to palpate his injuries. Dustil couldn't help letting out a pained hiss when the guard checked his arm and side using a medical scanner.

"A possible ruptured or bruised spleen, my Lady, sir, and a broken arm I shall need to secure first before moving you," the guard told them. "Sir, this will hurt for a bit," he told Dustil apologetically.

Despite it all, Dustil's lips puffed out in a silent laugh. "Like I'm not hurting right now."

"With your permission, sir?" the guard asked, his hands positioned on Dustil's arm above the first break, preparing to straighten it.

Lady Versenne interrupted. "Can you not give him something for the pain first, Eskar?"

The large guard shook his close-cropped blonde head. "Sorry, my Lady, but I shouldn't give him any drugs right now. He might have an allergic reaction, and I haven't got the equipment to check him first. I _can_ give _you_ a painkiller, though." He rummaged in his backpack and held out a syringe invitingly.

Lady Versenne nodded reluctantly, and with an apologetic glance at Dustil, held out her good arm to be injected. She winced as the guard injected her in the upper arm.

Well, at least one of them should have relief from the pain; Dustil couldn't really begrudge her that. The large guard didn't set off any of Dustil's mental alarms, so it wasn't likely the guard had just injected her with poison. There were better, more efficient ways of killing them, after all, with both of them incapacitated. And Revan wouldn't allow anyone who intended them harm to come down to rescue them. His fears and suspicions turned out to be just that, as Dustil watched Lady Versenne's face grow less pinched, and the color came back into her cheeks.

_Father's paranoia must be rubbing off on me._

Although Carth's paranoia might serve them well here... _Someone_ had sent that pillar crashing down onto them, after all, and Dustil would bet the _Ebon Hawk_ it hadn't happened by accident.

Dustil was sufficiently groggy and distracted by his thoughts that feeling the broken bones in his right arm being realigned made him yelp loudly from the pain; he felt his cheeks tingle as the blood drained from his face.

"Sorry, sir," the guard said in belated apology, then set the second break on Dustil's arm. This time Dustil kept his yell in his throat, although he bit his lip hard enough for it to bleed. Luckily for him, the breaks were clean and were simple fractures, not compound.

"It's okay," Dustil said through gritted teeth as his right arm throbbed and pulsed unpleasantly.

The guard expertly splinted up Dustil's arm and bound it to his body using a roll of bandages, then helped Dustil ease himself upright. Dustil nearly passed out when he bent over his aching stomach, and his head felt dizzyingly light; black, red and purple-shot clouds roiled in his vision, and stars joined in the dance as the blood pounded in his temples. The crawlspace spun in his starry vision, and there seemed to be, impossibly, three or four Lady Versennes and guards. He blinked and shook his head to try to focus his blurry sight.

With a great deal of wincing and flinching, Dustil maneuvered himself into the carrier with the guard's help, and let himself be strapped and secured into the harness-like affair. The guard detached a line from his climbing harness and reattached it to a hook on Dustil's carrier, then murmured into his communicator.

There was a warning tug, then Dustil felt himself being drawn slowly up; the repulsorlift kept him from being jarred by the pulling and cushioned him from shocks, and also kept him from bumping into the durasteel pillars and obstacles support struts presented at intervals.

Blearily, Dustil looked around the crawlspace as he was winched up, even though there wasn't really anything interesting to see, just exposed wires and cables, still sparking and spitting from being broken by their fall down, webbing and ruptured foam insulation, and spiky stubs of support spars. He twisted his head around to try to look behind him, confident the repulsorlift field would keep him from flailing or spinning around at the motion. The view was the same, so he gave up and let his head fall back against the thin headrest; it was unlikely he would spot anything anyway, given the way his vision was blurring and the view was revolving. Looking up, he squinted and saw a tripod-like affair directly above, which must be the winch mechanism they were using to pull him up; it was safer, he supposed, than solely using repulsorlift to bring him up.

Finally, Dustil was drawn up from the dimness of the crawlspace into bright floodlights, rather like a fish caught beneath lake ice and hauled up indignantly like a trophy prize; he blinked and his eyes watered painfully in the sudden glare of light.

Something warm suddenly folded him into its arms, surprising him. "D-Stiller!"

The smell of flowery spice told his still-functioning nose that it was _Revan_ who was trying to hug him. His spinning brain was still trying to make sense of that fact when a medical droid gently tried to detach Revan from him.

A strange mixture of Revan's anxiety, guilt, uncertainty, happiness, fear, joy and panic rolled over him for a second before being cut off. Dustil was shocked speechless by what he felt from her. Had she really been that worried? _I didn't know she cared that much..._

"Please, lady, allow us to treat him first. Please step out of the way," the droid said to Revan pleadingly.

"Oh, right, yes. Sorry," Revan said, stepping back. Dustil's watering eyes cleared enough for him to see her scrub her suspiciously wet cheeks with the back of one bloody hand.

_I'm sorry, Dustil, but I can't heal you right now, not with so many people around watching, but I can at least take away the pain_, Revan murmured into his mind.

Revan reached out to touch his cheek lightly with her cool fingers, and Dustil nearly broke, overcome by relief when the pain disappeared from his arm and side, ready to forgive her for everything if she would just keep it up. He sagged in the harness, aware for the first time of pain-tensed muscles as they relaxed and cramped, pacifically allowing the droids and medics to fuss over him. He was lowered into a horizontal position first, unstrapped, then gently deposited onto a waiting pallet, which seemed to suck him down into its warm and comfortable depths with all the gravitic force of a black hole.

"Please, lady, allow me to treat you now," another medical droid said to Revan, tugging at her torn sleeve with a hand.

Dustil looked up from his comfortably horizontal position to squint at Revan, diverted from watching the other Vosaryk guards clustered around the jagged hole, lowering the carrier back down. Revan's clothes were ripped, sweat-stained and bloody, one long gash on her right upper thigh, another high on her left arm. Bandages that'd been messily and raggedly torn from the bottom of her shirt were wrapped around them, now coming loose.

Revan frowned distractedly at the droid, then allowed it to fuss over her arm. Dustil ignored the two droids that were tsking over the monitors at the foot of his pallet, not even minding when one of them stuck his arm with an IV, since he couldn't feel it.

"What happened to you?" Dustil asked. "Where's everyone?" He licked his dry lips. "And can I get something to drink?"

Revan perched on the side of his large pallet, peering worriedly down at him. "Captain Morin and Bekim were near enough to us to be hurt badly from the falling pillar, so they got taken to the sickbay first. The other guards were alright, if frightened and shocked, since they were nowhere near us at the time. I got hit by some debris, getting the Captain and Bekim to safety," she explained, pointing at her arm and leg.

Taking a bottle from one of the medical droids, Revan helped Dustil sit to drink from it, pressing a button that elevated the head of the pallet. The water tasted wonderful on his parched tongue, and he took a moment just to savor a mouth that didn't feel dessicated and furry anymore.

Dustil looked more carefully at Revan; so he hadn't been imagining things, because the climbing harness she normally wore everywhere she went wasn't in evidence. She must've lent it to the guard.

"I tried to convince them to let me go down after you," Revan confided in a sour whisper to Dustil. "But they wouldn't let me. Said I was too small, the bastards."

Dustil couldn't help grinning at seeing the indignation on her face.

Shrugging, Revan's lips curled into a rueful smile. "They thought I was badly wounded, and probably concluded I wasn't in any shape to be rescuing anyone. And I suppose they must be feeling guilty Lady Versenne got hurt on their watch, so they wanted to feel in control of something, anything that might save her. So I didn't argue too much with them when one of them turned out to have mountain climbing experience, and could do it without bringing down the ceiling."

Dustil looked around at the mess the elegant dining space and observation deck had been reduced to. Half the viewscreens were dark and cracked, especially near the socket the pillar had fallen out of. Holocameras were zipping all around it and inside it, recording it and searching for evidence, Dustil supposed. Construction droids, probably hastily borrowed from the repair slips, moved around using their repulsorlift and tractor beam generators to shift the fallen debris out of the way, piling them in a huge heap; a guard stood well away, directing them, so that he wouldn't contaminate any evidence. The broken cables, wires, durasteel and plasteel paneling would no doubt be subjected to minute analysis and scanned for clues later.

Huge portable lights were arrayed all around the hole, where the guards were anxiously clumped around. They must have called for reinforcements, because there were a lot more Vosaryk-livered bodies there than the six who had accompanied Lady Versenne. Dustil was learning to read the subtleties of their uniforms; their insignia were slightly less elaborate than Lord Vosaryk's retainers, marking them as Lady Versenne's personal guard.

There were rusty brown stains on the floor; bloodstains, Dustil realized with a chill, but any bodies there might have been had long since been taken away.

Revan took out her battered box of mints and spilled one into a hand that shook slightly, and popped it into her mouth with the same relief a spice addict might have at finding she hadn't run out of her favorite drug after all.

"It tastes funny," Dustil complained, tasting the water more carefully, finding it to be a little salty and metallic, but it wasn't enough to stop him from taking another sip.

"I know. It's got some electrolytes and salt to help you retain water and absorb it," Revan replied. "It should help ease the thirst." She leaned over and peered at the discreet bank of monitors on the pallet's side. "It looks like your blood pressure is low."

_I've stopped the bleeding inside you with the Force, but... I think you're going to need surgery_, Revan continued in his head. "We should get you to the sickbay right now," she said out loud.

The human medic and droids assigned to Dustil all nodded their heads vigorously, nearly in unison, at Revan's suggestion. Dustil felt alarmed at the thought of needing surgery; the pain reduction Revan was working on him was an illusion, but he was determined to make sure Lady Versenne was out of harm's way first.

"No," Dustil mumbled. His eyelids were drooping more and more, and it was becoming more and more difficult to keep them propped open. "Wanna see her safe."

Revan obviously knew whom Dustil had meant by 'her' by the way her lips quirked; the thought made Dustil's cheeks hot. She looked at the monitors again, then said unhappily and reluctantly, "Alright. I can see you won't rest easy until she's brought back up."

Dustil looked around at the medics and droids standing nearby in earshot. "Uh... thanks," he said simply to Revan, knowing she could read all the other unsaid meanings he'd put into the words. He was surprised, a little, at how grateful he really did feel. It was amazing what being relieved of agonizing pain could do to a person's attitude.

Revan smiled wryly. "Least I could do. I'm sorry I got you into this, Stiller." She fidgeted with the box of mints she still held in her hands. "Your father's not going to be happy when he hears about this."

His gratitude was leavened with a bit of vindictive glee at realizing his father wasn't going to be pleased with Revan for letting Dustil get hurt. Dustil was surprised again at feeling a bit of shame for thinking that thought. He should feel glad Revan was not going to be in good odor with his father about this fiasco, but the pettiness of it did make his conscience twinge slightly.

It didn't take long for the guards to reel Lady Versenne up from the crawlspace, and she emerged into the glare of the floodlights, blinking and looking disoriented, her mussed and dusty platinum hair shining with its own brightness, despite the grit coating it. Her arm had been set and bound to her chest, too.

The guards immediately surrounded her, all of them breathing sighs of relief and expressing their worry for their Lady, and she was lost to Dustil's view. There was a flurry of activity around the other pallet, then she was whisked away. Dustil found himself disappointed that he hadn't been able to talk to her before she went.

The guard who'd climbed down after them went over to hand the climbing harness back to Revan, murmuring his thanks; Revan accepted it back with a nod. The guard moved to follow after Lady Versenne's entourage, brushing and patting the dust and dirt from his uniform.

"Come on, time for us to get you into a proper bed," Revan said briskly.

The pallet rose gently, with the small Jedi still sitting at his side, and started gliding to the doors, trailing their relieved medics and droids. Half the guards stayed to oversee the digging out and investigation, making sure the scene wouldn't be tampered with, and the other half had trotted after Lady Versenne's pallet. Their departure made the echoing space seem much emptier, although the noise the construction droids were making filled the room with loud clangs and scraping noises.

Dustil nodded sleepily, content to lie there quietly as his pallet was towed, not caring where he went as long as he wasn't in pain.

Against his will, Dustil closed his eyes for a moment, just a moment, and sleep stole him away, feeling cool fingers gently brushing against his forehead.

* * *

My apologies, guys, for taking so long with this chapter. Work's been gearing up for the Christmas season, and I haven't had as much time as I would've liked to work on my fic.

The description of Dustil's injuries couldn't have been done realistically without my copy of _Murder and Mayhem: A Doctor Answers Medical and Forensic Questions for Mystery Writers_ by D. P. Lyle, M.D.

With thanks Prisoner24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback.

Menolly Onasi: Heh, thanks. Hope you at least smiled when you read Ch. 51.

Ceza: Thanks! But it's taken you this long for you to review? :p :) Thanks for the compliments.

Kosiah: Ch. 50: It's not just strange anachronisms, it's the strange anachronisms in such a futuristic setting, with ships capable of traveling light-years in such a short time. I'm pretty sure black powder (for guns) is still in use, at least on very backward worlds, like the Sand People using guns that look suspiciously like rifles. I had a lot of help with the forensics, see my Ch. 50 author's notes. Glad you liked Dustil's thoughts on Korriban. Ch. 51: Thanks, glad you enjoyed.

Firera: Glad you enjoyed! Carth never blushed in the game due to the graphics engine limitations, but I'm sure he would've at some lines. Revan wouldn't kill him, she'd just be very, very amused, which may be the more mortifying reaction.

Prisoner 24601: Thanks. :D I figure Carth wouldn't be that suave when it comes to worming information out of a woman.

Kazic: Oh, no! But you're not very stubborn, are you? I once lost the same review for four times, trying to review Kosiah's fic fumbling on my dinky laptop, and dammit, I finally got it in the end. So you should've done the same, darnit! :p :) And Carth would probably prefer to die first than go to the Zabrak's room. :D

VMorticia: Hey, maybe I find Nekja hot. :p I did finally take a peek at your fic, and it's really amazing how synchronicity works. I really didn't know. The song probably resembles Terry Pratchett's Discworld infamous Hedgehog song... Nah, Carth didn't know, really, he just worries enough about them that he'd panic. As for corpses, like I said, the clothes hide everything. I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree.

Feza: Heh, sleazy Carth. He didn't really want to do it, poor guy. :)

Nyvanna: lol, Revan probably did do it on purpose. Carth didn't have much choice in making his team succeed, really. Hm, dunno who gave her the bawdy song memories. Probably some dirty old man.

Krazed Kaoishin Fangirl: Thanks, glad you enjoyed, even if you were vague about it. :)


	53. Obstacles

**Chapter 53: Obstacles**

Carth ventured out of his tiny room again, bandages firmly fixed in place under his armor, reinforced gloves on his hands, and he was as ready as he could be without having his weapons nearby. He tried to walk like he wasn't intruding in enemy territory behind enemy lines, but his twinging bruises told him he wouldn't like to get into anymore fights, not unless he liked waking up stiff as a board.

Pondering his options, Carth slowed as he approached the ramps, keeping a wary eye on the mercs passing him by. Up or down? Up were the floors of offices, but Carth didn't think he could wander around there without attracting unwanted attention. The offices were likely where he could find something of use, plans or whatever, but he couldn't possibly justify his presence there. All the other mercs were either in remedial training sessions or off to the entertainments this place had on offer, not wandering the staff's floor. There were no computer consoles on the merc floors except for the ones in the training rooms, and _those_ were monitored. It was frustrating, not being able to get to where all that data and evidence had to be, just out of reach. So close, yet so damned far.

Carth was pretty sure he'd satisfied Nekja of his bona fides, since he'd acted like a total bastard and a hard-ass, based on a guy he'd known in the Fleet, an old Fleet petty officer who'd used to be the terror of a certain young ensign, but who'd also taught him a lot. That petty officer had never been promoted past his rank, and it probably had something to do with all the fights he'd picked with Republic Marines. The man had never been able to keep his fists to himself when it came to Marines. He suspected Nekja had been testing him, which was the reason the first two fights he'd been in hadn't been broken up by the guards.

Well, since he couldn't go up, he'd have to go down. Down led to the cantina, massage parlor, and all the other dubious entertainments soldiers and mercs alike enjoyed. Carth hoped he wouldn't run into a certain red-haired Zabrak, shuddering at the thought. A trip through the sewers to escape was looking better and better compared to that fate. Sewer sludge didn't bat red eyelashes at him and simper.

Carth took out his datapad and brought up the map. Let's see, if he went down another level, he'd be in the cantina... But that might not be a good idea, the ache in his back told him in no uncertain terms. He winced at the thought of another bar brawl. Especially a bar brawl with no Revan to give him a massage afterwards. No, definitely not the cantina. He doubted the drunken sots could tell him anything, anyway.

A shadow and instinct made him look up from his pad, and Carth narrowly avoided bumping right into a very large Duros. Carth immediately stepped to the side, not just to get out of the Duros' way, but to give himself some room if this turned into another brawl. It was Chavak, the Duros from Carth's assigned squad.

"'scuse me," Carth said warily, putting his datapad back into his back pocket to free his hands.

Chavak bared his teeth, hands curling into fists at his sides, but he didn't make any other threatening move. He spun and turned away.

The tensed muscles relaxed slightly in Carth's shoulders and neck as he watched the Duros stomp off. That was a timebomb waiting to happen, and Carth didn't intend to be here when it went off. That Duros was trouble. Hell, this whole damned place was trouble, and he couldn't wait to get the hell out.

Speaking of getting out, he really should start to seriously search for ways to get out of House Boro. So far he'd turned up with nothing; all of the ventilation shafts he'd come across were too small even for Mission or Revan, the floors that had exits were firmly locked, and there were no windows. It was rather depressing. Carth thought he'd go crazy if he had to stay in here another day. And there was Zaie's offer--or rather, threat--to really motivate him. He shuddered again. Boy, he was making a lot of friends. Unfortunately, they were all the wrong sorts.

Frowning, Carth stopped on a floor, standing on the ramp. He didn't recognize this one, although all the white corridors were rather unmemorable and featureless. Dammit, he must've walked right past his destination, he'd been so preoccupied with his thoughts. With an irritated sigh, Carth took out his datapad again, and tried to figure out where the hell he was. The lack of mercs walking around should've clued him in. He would probably have to retrace his steps. Well, this would teach him not to let his attention lapse like that...

"No!" echoed down the white corridor, sounding hollow and faraway, but Carth still heard the fear and panic in it.

He took a step towards the direction of the sound, stepping off the ramp, then hesitated. Was it any of his business? he thought as he chewed his lip in indecision. Carth wasn't sure he should break cover like this... It was probably just a drunken fool of a merc in trouble, although it hadn't sounded like a merc. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, vacillating.

Another high-pitched shriek decided Carth. With an inward sigh, Carth trotted down the hall to where he thought the sound had emanated, passing by closed doors. At the end of the oddly short hall was a pair of wide, hangar-like doors, not so much tall as short and wide. In fact, this hall was wider and taller than the other floors Carth had seen, and he thought he felt the subtle hum of generators or machinery through his boot soles. He sniffed, and was pretty sure he smelled mechanical oil, lubricant and the ozone of electronics. He wondered if he was near the power generators or some kind of repair facility. Presumably they had a droid bay for maintaining all the war droids and serving droids he'd seen around here, so maybe that was where he was.

The hangar doors opened silently for him as he approached, revealing a huge but short area full of all sorts of equipment, machinery and consoles in various stages of repair and assembly. A few hovering spider droids floated here and there, tinkering with things and doing mysterious tasks that involved arc welding, the removal of bits and the insertion of other bits into quietly humming machinery.

In the middle of the space was a cluster of workbenches, piled high with junk, tools and half-dissected pieces of electronics, reminding Carth of Suvam Tan's workspace on the old Yavin IV Republic space station. At least there weren't any gizka hopping around. Carth took a nostalgic sniff of the ozone-laden air, because it smelled a bit like the _Ebon Hawk_.

"Please, no hurt Silam! Silam no can do it! More than Silam job worth!" came a panicky, high-pitched voice behind a large speeder turbine standing on its end, hidden from Carth's view.

Stepping as silently as he could on the metal grating floor, Carth slid up to the turbine, peeking into the space between it and a haphazardly stacked pile of speeder hoods from all different sorts of models.

A very small and scrawny-looking Sullustan in dirty overalls was cowering before a large Trandoshan, who towered several heads above the Sullustan. The Sullustan's large black eyes were white-rimmed behind his goggles, his large round ears flattened to his skull. The short sentient had one arm upraised as though warding off a blow, though he must not have been very successful defending himself, because there was a large bruise already forming on his mask-like face, and a thin trickle of blood ran down his chin from his thick lips.

The Trandoshan grabbed the Sullustan by the neck of his overalls, and picked him up effortlessly with one hand until the Sullustan's feet dangled in the air. He bared his needle teeth in a grimacing smile, holding the Sullustan up until their faces were only inches apart.

"Well, Silam, what if I told you it may be more than _Silam's_ life is worth?" the Trandoshan said in a falsely cordial voice. He held up the blaster rifle in his other hand. "I know you have weapons upgrades around here somewhere. Some good stuff like improved energy cells and scopes. I want them, and I want them _now_."

The Sullustan frantically shook his head, perhaps foolishly. "Silam no can do that! Boro count inventory! Upgrades for Boro only, but you can buy from company store--"

Growling, the Trandoshan shook the small sentient, making the huge mass of tools on the Sullustan's belt jingle merrily and his head snap back and forth. "I don't want company store crap! You've got special stuff in here, I know it!"

Carth had seen enough. He reached over and grabbed a long durasteel coolant pipe leaning against a plasteel barrel full of communications sensors, and hefted it; it was satisfyingly heavy. He stepped around the turbine, but neither the Trandoshan nor the Sullustan saw him, so he moved up quietly behind the Trandoshan.

"Now, you'll either get those upgrades for me, or I'll shove this piece of intake valve up your ass," the Trandoshan growled, not noticing that Carth had snuck up behind him.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size, lizard face," Carth said casually, interrupting the Trandoshan in mid-threat.

Startled, the Trandoshan whirled around, dropping the Sullustan, and brought his blaster rifle up in both hands. The Sullustan squeaked and rolled underneath a workbench, cowering there. Carth saw him out of the corners of his eyes, but couldn't spare any attention for him; he'd already been in motion the second the Trandoshan had turned. Carth held the pipe in a firm, two-handed grip and brought it up in an underhand swing that knocked the rifle out of the Trandoshan's hands, and had to have numbed them to the bone.

The coolant pipe whirled in Carth's hands and swung at the left side of the Trandoshan's face... only to stop a few inches away from his temple. The Trandoshan stumbled back.

"I suggest you get out. Now," Carth said quietly as he put one foot on the blaster rifle, resting the pipe pointedly on his shoulder.

The Trandoshan's eyes darted from his blaster rifle, to the pipe, to the tattoo on Carth's face, lingering there. Carth smiled slowly, baring his teeth, trying to look as menacing as he could.

"No need for any trouble, Bird Man, I was just... I was just leaving..." the Trandoshan muttered, deflating now that he was facing someone a bit tougher than a small Sullustan. Carth's lip curled.

It seemed the Trandoshan had heard of Carth's exploits in House Boro. Finally, his dubious reputation was paying off some positive dividends for a change; maybe he won't get into an actual fight again, after all. Carth slid his toe under the blaster rifle and flipped it up to his free hand, and tossed it to the Trandoshan when he saw that it had no power pack. That's right, the weapons scanners would've squawked if he'd been carrying it around at full charge.

"Go on, get," Carth said, jerking his chin at the doors, waving the pipe for emphasis. "Don't let me catch you here again." He had nothing but contempt and disgust for bullies and greedy fools, but the satisfaction of paying this particular bully just what he deserved was blunted by his worry of the inevitable consequences. He didn't feel _too_ bad, though.

_Oh, well. You weren't going to be making friends here, anyway._

The Trandoshan's hands clenched on his rifle as he bared his needle teeth at Carth, but turned around and left.

Carth put the pipe down and looked around for the Sullustan, and found him still cowering under the workbench when he wandered back into the workspace area. Carth halted and pondered his options; he could either haul the little Sullustan out and scare him again, leave him alone and come back later, or try to coax him out. Carth's eye fell on a sleek, silver-blue speeder, and thought he found the perfect bait. He was genuinely interested and intrigued by the engine he saw in the open hood of the speeder, which might help.

"Say, is this a KZN-90 engine?" Carth exclaimed, moving away from the workbench to give the Sullustan space and time to regain his composure. "I hear it goes from zero to five hundred in five seconds!" He remembered lusting after a KZN-70 when he was younger; this sure brought back memories of his misspent youth, he thought with a grin as he stuck his head under the hood to look more closely at the gleaming engine.

"Is KZN-90A engine," came a squeaky voice from under the workbench after a few minutes had passed by, and Carth had still done nothing threatening.

"What does the 'A' stand for?" Carth asked, not looking up. He shifted so that he could at least see the workbench the Sullustan was hiding under, in case he decided to sneak up on him with a hydrospanner to get the new interloper out.

"'A' for Silam modifications."

Carth peered at a shiny black case that had been installed on the engine; he could see that it wasn't part of the original machinery from the color and lines. Large coolant coils were wrapped around it, and thick cables and wires had been attached to it from the power core and thrusters.

"What sort of modifications? Some kinda booster rocket? I can see you've attached something to the engine and power generator..." Carth said, trying to figure it out.

After a few more minutes, some rustling noises, jingling of tools and tentative steps on the metal floor told Carth the Sullustan had ventured out from his hiding place. Carth still didn't look up, not wanting to scare the little sentient back under the workbench.

"Is good guess. Very close," the Sullustan admitted hesitantly, as though he were testing the waters and Carth's seeming friendliness.

Contemplating the modifications and wires, Carth said thoughtfully, "I... think you've added some new kind of fuel source. I can see a socket for taking something." Carefully, Carth touched the smooth groove on the casing, where there was a small hole and holding brackets.

The Sullustan moved to the other side of the speeder, where he didn't have to bend over like Carth to look inside, and, incidentally, keeping it between him and Carth. He was salivating nervously, using a rag to wipe at his chin as he looked anxiously and fearfully at Carth.

"Silam put in socket for taking spin-sealed Tibanna gas fuel," the Sullustan offered.

Carth's eyes widened. "But wouldn't that overload the engine until it exploded? That's dangerous stuff! Doing that's like, like putting an active plasma mine between your legs!" he exclaimed, wincing just thinking about it. He looked up finally, but the Sullustan shrank back only slightly.

Smiling tentatively, the Sullustan shook his head, eyes gleaming with growing enthusiasm instead of fear now. "No, Silam modifications very safe! Er..." He looked at Carth more closely, eyes obviously riveted to Carth's tattoo. "You know engines? You look like merc..."

Leaning his elbows on the edge of the engine to present a more pacific picture, Carth nodded. "Yeah, I tinker with engines all the time. As a hobby, you know. A guy can have a hobby even if he kills people for a living, right?" he joked. The Sullustan didn't seem to understand sarcasm when he heard it, though, and he shrunk back again, looking poised to run. Carth hastily added, "Just joking. Name's Tav Tagar." He decided not to scare off the Sullustan with a smile, instead sticking out his hand across the engine.

Shrinking back, the Sullustan stared at Carth's hand as though wondering if Carth would use the opportunity to grab him. Carth held his hand out steadily, waiting patiently for several minutes before the Sullustan spoke.

"Er, is human custom?" the Sullustan said in puzzlement, before realization dawned. "Oh, Silam remember now." He shook Carth's hand gingerly. "Silam name is Silam," he said, somewhat redundantly.

"Nice to meet you, Silam," Carth said amiably.

Silam tilted his head like a bird. "Tav Tagar? Oh! Bird Man! You fought thirty men and won!" he exclaimed, looking excited, clapping his hands together like a happy child.

Groaning, Carth clapped a hand to his eyes in embarrassed exasperation. "Aw, dammit! It was only five, for the Force's sake!"

"You good fighter! You hit Trandoshan!" Silam said happily, eyes gleaming with pleased satisfaction behind his goggles.

"I just surprised him," Carth demurred, waving a dismissive hand. "How come no one came to help you? You should've called out for help," he said, leaning on his arms again.

"Repair depot no have cameras," Silam said with a philosophical shrug. "Too much interference." He pointed at all the humming machinery around them.

"What about war droid guards?" Carth said, making a mental note of the 'no cameras' comment. "Seems like they've got'em to spare around here."

"Silam no like war droids. Make Silam nervous," Silam said, fiddling with some wires on the engine. "Remind Silam when Silam was slave." He lowered another set of lenses attached to a headband over his goggles, and started making minute adjustments to an array of instruments attached to the new fuel intake.

"You were a slave?" Carth asked as he watched the Sullustan's stubby but quick and clever fingers attach mysterious leads and wires.

Eyes magnified by the lenses looked up at Carth consideringly, as though gauging his words to see if he were mocking him. "Silam was slave on Sleheyron, mechanic to Hutt lord. Silam escape on transport, but Hutt lord catch up with Silam. Lord Boro on warship stop Hutt lord ship, take Silam to Sluis Van. Silam work for Boro ever since." Silam let out a huge, melancholy sigh. "Lord Boro dead now. Silam no like new management. Silam may leave soon."

"That was kind of Lord Boro," Carth remarked, tucking his right foot around his left ankle and hunching over the engine more comfortably.

Silam nodded vigorously. "Lord Boro kind to Silam! Let Silam take care of all Boro toys!" He waved his arms energetically at all the parts and machines cluttering the repair depot, the gleam of an inveterate tinkerer in his goggled eyes. "Boro used to respect Silam, but new management no respect Silam," he said sadly.

Carth nodded sympathetic understanding. "Bet you didn't used to get beat up when Lord Boro was in charge."

"Tav Tagar right," Silam said in agreement. "Big mean mercs pick on Silam, Boro no care no more." He shrugged in what-can-I-do resignation.

Carth looked around at the machinery, some of which couldn't possibly have been brought into the room whole. "How'd you get this stuff in here in the first place, anyway?" He pointed at a low-slung, aerodynamic shape with lines that screamed of speed. "You can't tell me you got that transport in here without taking it apart first."

Silam blinked at the transport as though he'd forgotten it was there, then flipped the lenses up from his goggles. "Oh. They fly through door." He pointed with one stubby finger at one white wall, one oddly clear of the machinery that was stacked up to the ceiling in places at the other walls.

Frowning, Carth peered at the wall. "It's just a wall, Silam," he said dubiously.

The Sullustan shrugged, continuing to tinker with the engine. "Is door to outside. Silam no like heights, so Lord Boro make door to hide forcefield," he muttered distractedly.

Scratching his still-itchy cheeks absently, Carth took note of that detail. Heights... This floor must be high above ground. _Good... maybe._ The Sullustan appeared to have completely forgotten his presence, too busy messing happily with the machine.

"Isn't that monitored?" Carth asked nonchalantly, jerking his chin at the door.

The little Sullustan snorted. "Of course is monitored! Door monitored, or Silam walk off with millions credits of machine! Er, not Silam ever do that," he added hastily.

Carth grinned. "Perish the thought. Do you have to do a lot of repair work?" he asked, looking around at all the machines lying around in various stages of disassembly. _So, just the door is monitored, huh? Hm..._

"Lots work in good old days. Lord Boro dead, not so much work for Silam," Silam said mournfully. He pointed at the speeder he was working on. "This be biggest project Silam work on for months. But is good project, so Silam no mind."

Carth watched curiously as the Sullustan muttered darkly and took out a sensor, running it over the engine, then pushed his hand into the mysterious depths of the engine until he was lying nearly flat, feet in the air, armpit-deep in the machine. There was a scraping noise, then Silam slid back onto his feet, holding a burned fuse up triumphantly in one greasy hand. He waddled over to the workbench and dropped it on a large pile of junk, then scooped it up, staggering under its weight. Carth moved to take several of the largest pieces from him, what looked like corroded speeder parts and bits of engine fuselage.

The Sullustan blinked in surprise up at him. "Oh. Silam thank Tav Tagar. Come, follow Silam."

Shifting the pile of junk in his arms, Carth followed Silam to a truly huge heap of similarly discarded bits, near the wall that was really a doorway. Silam directed Carth to drop his burden near the pile. Carth did so, since the long metal pieces were poking painfully into the skin of his arms, even through his jacket.

The place was a mess, reminding him of the garage he used to have on Telos, although he'd never really had the time to tinker with things as much as he would've liked. Morgana had always shaken her head despairingly at his workspace, but had never meddled with it. As always when he thought of Morgana these days, Carth felt a pang of guilt, sadness and regret, then shook it off.

_This is no time to get maudlin, Onasi. Pay attention. You can mope later._

Silam rubbed at his round chin thoughtfully as he stared at the junkheap with some bemusement. "Er, Silam think Silam need to call scrap collector. Is getting... big." He turned to a panel next to the wall and tapped keys on the console. Silam turned back to Carth, looking happy. "Oh, they come tomorrow. Is good."

"Scrap collector?" Carth asked curiously, wiping his hands on his trousers. The display on the panel blinked with numbers, showing a time in the evening.

"Collector is big automated freighter. Use magnetic field and tractor beam to take junk. Silam no like, make lots noise, but is quick. Is Sluis Van service. Sluissi take junk for shipyards, melt down, make big ships," Silam said, looking wistful at the thought. "Silam want work on ships, but ships too big, Silam too small."

"I don't think it matters what your size is, Silam," Carth said as they walked back to the Sullustan's workspace, away from the junkpile. "If you're good at what you do, you can work on ships if you're big or small. In fact, there'd be places on a ship where being small's an advantage," he added, thinking of Revan worming her way through the _Leviathan's_ ventilation system.

Silam gaped up at him. "Really? How Tav Tagar know?"

"Oh, I was a Marine with the Republic years ago," Carth said, sticking to his cover story.

Silam's already huge eyes became impossibly rounder and bigger. "Wow. What ships Tav Tagar on?"

Carth didn't see any harm in telling the truth here; the details of Tav Tagar's deployments matched Carth Onasi's service record, so that he could remember his own cover story. "Well, the very first ship I was ever stationed on was a _Starhawk_-class corvette..." He remembered his first-ever command with nostalgia; he'd loved that ship, even if it _was_ middle-aged and had been rendered obsolete even then by newer ships.

"Oh, small, light-armed and armored, but fast," Silam said enviously.

"You know it?" Carth raised his eyebrows. The _Starhawk_-class corvette had been decommissioned years ago, replaced by newer, more powerful ships. Only starship enthusiasts and the Fleet remembered it nowadays.

Silam nodded vigorously; he couldn't seem to nod in any other way. "Silam read about all kinds of ships."

"Sluis Van's full of shipyards, Silam. If you study and get your certifications, you can get a berth on one pretty easy, if you're as good with ships as you are with speeders," Carth said encouragingly. From what he'd seen, the little Sullustan was wasted in House Boro, though Silam had chosen to serve here in gratitude and out of loyalty.

"Really?" Silam blinked his large round eyes. Carth nodded. "Hm. Silam... Silam need think about it," he said thoughtfully, fiddling with his tool belt.

They came back to the speeder, and Silam began tinkering with the engine again. The Sullustan appeared to have completely forgotten Carth's presence, too busy messing happily with the machine. Carth watched silently, arms propped on the edge of the hood until Silam finished making one final adjustment, then reached up to slam the hood down; Carth hastily retreated and straightened to avoid getting hit.

Raising the lenses, Silam adjusted his goggles and blinked owlishly at Carth. "Tav Tagar still here?" he blurted in surprise. "Tav Tagar should go, Silam has to do some electroplating now."

Carth raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Electroplating something yourself? Why not get a droid to do it for you?"

The Sullustan sniffed disapprovingly. "Droids no know how to do what Silam want. If Silam want it done right, Silam do own self. But Tav Tagar no be here. Chemicals very dangerous. Bad for humans."

"Bad for humans? But wouldn't you just vent this stuff right back out into the habitat?" Carth said with some alarm. Electroplating released dangerous chemical vapors that were fatal to most sentients, and the thought of all that dangerous gas being pumped into the atmosphere of a habitat made Carth queasy.

Silam flapped his hands in vigorous negative. "No, no, no, no, no, Silam no do that! Tav Tagar think Silam and House Boro crazy?" He shook his head until his large round ears flapped. "No, the gasses be pumped into special vents, gas go outside into space." He pointed at the ceiling.

Carth looked up to see large ventilation ports in the ceiling, which were also the source of much of the noise in the room, as powerful exhaust fans sucked all of the air. "Oh," he said, relaxing, then looked back down at the Sullustan. "But how are you gonna breathe? This stuff could kill you!"

Silam walked over to a large cabinet, pulled aside an engine chassis with some effort, and opened it to reveal several environment suits, like the one they'd found in the Hrakert Rift station on Manaan. These had been modified to be more dexterous, with all sorts of tools fitted right on the gloves and fingers, and were less bulky, because there were ports to take oxygen instead of carrying a tank on the suit itself. Huge coils of tubes sat next to the suits, along with oxygen canisters.

"Silam put on," the Sullustan said, pointing at the suits. "Bad gas no breathe in." He closed the door back on the suits.

Ideas churning in his head, Carth absently held out his hand. "Okay. It was nice to meet you, Silam."

Silam shook Carth's hand, leaving a smear of grease and machine oil on it. "Oh, was nice meet you, Tav Tagar. Come back again? Silam show Tav Tagar swoop engines, too."

"Hey, I'd like that," Carth said, with genuine warmth. At any other time he would've loved to shoot the breeze and talk shop with another mechanic and tinkerer, but he reminded himself that he was here to spy, not enjoy himself, no matter how much he wanted to examine that engine more closely.

Thoughtfully, Carth took himself out through the doors and made his way slowly back to his room, rubbing his hand absently on his trousers. The doors closed behind him with a click, locking themselves.

He had the pieces of an idea for a plan, though the plan couldn't even be called that, really, it was so nebulous at the moment. He checked his chrono, and was astonished to see that it was quite late. He hadn't known he'd been talking to Silam for such a long time. The little Sullustan seemed to be the type who kept odd hours, working and sleeping when he liked. Carth wouldn't be surprised if Silam ate and slept in the repair depot, spending all his waking hours there.

There was a great deal of noise and traffic on the floors Carth walked past, especially the ones that had all the entertainments. He shook his head, deciding to skip anymore information-gathering sessions for tonight. It had been a long day and he was tired. Carth doubted he could get anything more out of the mercs than he already had. Gossip was relevant to his mission, but it had devolved into the mercs' lives, squabbles and in-fighting, which was hardly useful.

Carth stood aside to let a pair of Boro-liveried guards pass, dragging five sullen and obviously drunk mercs between them, their hands secured with electronic handcuffs. The faces of the guards showed their annoyance and boredom as they struggled to keep the knot moving. From the expert manner in which they kept their charges moving and prevented straggling, Carth thought this was probably a pretty common occurrence, and one the military police--the guards, rather--saw everyday.

Idly, he thumbed his pad to show the brig, which was located on the staff floor, oddly. Carth didn't see the point of putting the brig so far away, unless they meant it to isolate the mercs. Or maybe they didn't have room elsewhere. He shrugged and followed after the cursing mercs at a distance, until he reached his floor. The guards continued upwards, pulling the mercs along after them.

In this thoughtful frame of mind, Carth entered his spartan little room, automatically heading for the refresher and cleaning up. He found that the salve had done its work, and felt only a twinge of the earlier ache on his back.

As was his nightly ritual, Carth took his weapons down from the rack and started checking and cleaning them. With a sigh, Carth came to the conclusion that it wasn't going to be easy, escaping from House Boro. There were too many damned surveillance cameras, too many damned guards... Although they seemed to leave the mercs well enough alone to settle their squabbles amongst themselves, since no one had intervened in Carth's fights. He shook his head at the thought that he'd been in three fights, just today!

His hands moved to take apart his blaster pistol, neatly disassembling it with practiced fingers. Carth found himself staring at the power pack, left disengaged when being stored, and wondered how Dustil was doing. Was his son getting along with Revan? Fighting? Arguing? His datapad hadn't alerted him since; the news hadn't elaborated much on that earlier article that'd come up on the search, just saying that a section of the Vosaryk shipyard had been seen to have undergone a mysterious compression or implosion. Carth shrugged. Accidents happened.

The inklings of a plan suddenly snapped into place as Carth stared at the power pack. Carth grinned cheerfully, leaned back in his chair and tossed the power pack into the air, catching it as it came down.

Things were about to get very hot in House Boro.

*** * ***

The spot between Carth's shoulderblades itched as he walked through the corridors, passing mercenaries who shot him cold, calculating stares; openly measuring from the brave and confident ones, or out of the corners of their eyes from the more sly and cautious ones. He ignored them as best he could, giving no indication he'd noticed the looks as he breezed past them, and clenched his jaw. He couldn't wait to get the hell out of here.

Outwardly casual, Carth sauntered between the two war droids that guarded the door to the mess hall, but inside he was tense; the reaction of the droids would make or break his plan, but he was sure they wouldn't react. He only breathed again when he'd gotten past, walking into the mess hall with no discernible reaction from the droids. He got into line for breakfast, keeping a vigilant eye out for trouble as he slid with his back against the wall.

His pouches felt curiously heavy, their weights making him feel a bit nervous and guiltily apprehensive, but he knew he wasn't violating any regs; he'd checked the datapad's long list of rules carefully. All he had to do now was act his part, and he was itching to get it over with, however at ease his mind was now with following a plan.

As his gaze fell idly on the throngs of mercs already in the hall, his eyes were caught by a familiar group of mercs sitting at one of the mixed-race tables. The Trandoshan and the two Gamorreans he'd taken on yesterday were sitting there, sullenly eating their breakfasts and not paying much attention to anything. Since they weren't moving much, Carth couldn't tell if they were still injured. The two humans were sitting in the human section, and the redhead's jaw definitely looked like it was still healing. Carth dismissed them for the moment, and searched for a particular quarry.

This part was probably going to be the easiest, Carth thought as he took a laden tray over to one of the mixed-race tables, this one strangely empty of all but a few mercs sitting at the ends. His senses seemed over-sharp and oversensitive, and twanged with anticipation as he sat near the middle; he couldn't help but wonder if this would be the right way to do things, and not turn out to be the result of a potentially-fatal overdose of adrenaline and testosterone.

_Well, only one way to find out._

After observing this mess hall for a long while before he'd been interrupted by some bullies yesterday morning, Carth thought this was the best spot to make trouble--

A shadow falling over Carth warned him trouble had just arrived. His fingers tensed around the handle of his caffa mug, and he turned his head slightly to the side to see if he could catch sight of whoever was behind him. That turned out to be unnecessary, because the shadow moved off, resolving into a huge mountain of a Gamorrean who moved to sit down across the table, a little way down from Carth.

That was a surprise. Carth had thought for sure the battle-scarred Gamorrean would forcibly eject him from his table. His observations yesterday had noted that few mercs dared to sit there; in fact, they only sat there if they had no choice. Carth supposed his reputation had given even the huge Gamorrean pause; well, it was about damned time it was good for something besides getting him into fights. He smiled inwardly; at least it meant he wouldn't be taken by surprise from behind this time.

Carth studied the Gamorrean out of the corners of his eyes, keeping his face behind the cover of his caffa mug; his observations yesterday had been from a distance, not up close. This looked to be an older Gamorrean than the ones Carth had tussled with yesterday; the Gamorrean's horns were a bit longer and thicker, sharpened to points, and his tusks were the same, and a bit yellow. The armor he wore had to be custom-made to fit his enormous bulk, and scuffed with old blaster burns and sword cuts. One eye had been replaced by a red-lensed ocular implant, no doubt because of the scarred wound that crossed the length of his porcine face, beginning at his left temple, stretching across the snout and ending down on his right jowl.

It was a face only a Gamorrean mother would love. The Gamorrean paid no obvious attention to his surroundings, but Carth got the feeling he had his ears and eyes alert for trouble as much as Carth did. Definitely smarter than the average Gamorrean. But then no one would still be alive to be that badly scarred if they weren't smart or cunning, Carth thought as he slipped the heavy, coarse breads he'd taken for breakfast into his pouches and jacket pockets surreptitiously. He would have to be careful.

Carth made a pretense of sniffing the air loudly. "What the hell's this stink I smell?" he said, pitching his voice so that the mercs at the other tables could hear him over the chatter and buzz of conversation, and the sound of cutlery. He was rewarded immediately with quiet and speculative murmurs.

The Gamorrean didn't look up from his breakfast, but Carth could see that the knuckles of his scarred ham hands were pale from gripping his utensils tightly.

Shifting his weight and gathering his legs under the bench, Carth continued to remark to the air, "Must be these damned Gamorrean pig-men, always fouling up the air wherever they go." If he'd read the Gamorrean correctly, he wouldn't be able to pass up the insult. Inside, though, Carth winced at what he was about to say; he hated the racist crap that spewed out of the mouths of the likes of Gorton Colu back on Taris and elsewhere, but now he was about to say the same garbage. _Ugh. I'll just have to wash my mouth out later._

"Only good Gamorrean's a dead Gamorrean. The only language they understand is a blaster to their foreheads. If it can get through their thick skulls," Carth finished, moving his free arm on the table to prepare to heave himself up and away from his bench if he had to.

The buzz of the other mercs turned into the inevitable barks and growls of bets being taken and wagers being offered.

Slowly, with the inevitability of a glacier, the scarred Gamorrean pushed his tray away with all the ponderous dignity and deliberation of someone drawing his blade. Carth continued to sit where he was, taking no notice, trying not to feel guilty about what he'd just said. Not that he _liked_ Gamorreans at the best of times, but he'd never gone out of his way to provoke them, either.

_Right, Onasi. You _do_ remember what you said to that bunch of Gamorrean hunter-cowards back on Tatooine, don't you?_ Carth controlled a wince.

Muscles tensed, nerves stretched, Carth watched the Gamorrean round the table slowly and approach him. He swung his feet out from under the table, so that he leaned back against it.

"Bird Man got problem with Krag?" the Gamorrean said in a deep rumbling voice, planting himself in front of Carth, fists like two small boulders at his sides.

Lazily, Carth set his still-full mug of caffa aside and got to his feet, to find that he was, depressingly, shorter than the Gamorrean by two heads. _Hm, maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Oh, well, too late now. Nowhere to go but forward._

"Yeah," Carth drawled with a sneer, making sure he remembered where that mug of caffa was without looking, and tucked his thumbs in his belt in a deceptively inoffensive stance as he faced the Gamorrean. "You gotta problem with that, pig-man?"

There was quiet now as the other mercs settled down to watch the confrontation, an expectant hush rippling outwards from Carth and the Gamorrean to the ends of the huge room. Carth's muscles relaxed now, his breathing slow and steady as he prepared himself for whatever the brutish merc might throw at him. The Gamorrean had to make the first move, not him. There was no going back from this.

Carth had just enough time to bat the mug of caffa at the Gamorrean, splashing him with a bit of hot caffa before a fist the size of a capital ship shot out towards his face. The hot liquid surprise helped to throw the Gamorrean's aim off a little, reducing the force of what would no doubt have been a jawbreaker of a punch, but the punch was thrown faster than Carth expected, and he only just managed to blunt the force of the blow by turning his head to the side. His head still rocked back from the force of the strike, and his nose gushed blood immediately. Stars glittered in Carth's vision, and he blinked furiously to clear it, shaking his head to get the ringing out of his ears as he staggered back.

Then two hard hands grasped Carth by the shoulders and lifted him up bodily. Carth's vision finally cleared enough for him to see that the Gamorrean had lifted him high above him, arms at full extension, and had time to think, _Oh, damn, this is gonna hurt_ before he was thrown down onto the table.

The table broke under Carth, and most of the air was expelled from his lungs at the impact as his back hit the sturdy piece of furniture, but he'd been prepared for it, more or less, and kept his head from being knocked back against the surface. That didn't keep his back from hurting, though, and trays of food had slid down the new incline to spatter their contents onto him.

Groaning, Carth opened one eye, feigning more pain and damage than he really had, but not pretending all that much. Adrenaline was blunting the worst of the pain right now, but he fully expected his back and jaw to complain with a vengeance later. At least no one else's mugs had splashed onto him. He moved his arms in half-hearted little motions, pretending disorientation, and heard the mercs cursing and cheering beyond the area of his vision. He'd anticipated this, but that didn't mean he liked getting beat up. He couldn't afford to get injured too badly, so it was time to finish this, and hope it was bloody enough to attract the right attention.

The Gamorrean loomed over Carth, grinning wickedly, baring his tusks in a triumphant, savage smile, and moved to pick him up, presumably to repeat the process. But Carth wasn't about to be so cooperative anymore. Quickly, Carth rolled on his left side and hooked the toe of his left boot around the Gamorrean's large left ankle for leverage, bent his left knee, using the Gamorrean to pull himself closer, and brought his right foot down in a straight kick against the Gamorrean's left knee as hard as he could, putting everything he had into the blow.

There was a loud snap as the Gamorrean's knee broke and bent backwards in the wrong direction, and the Gamorrean let out a huge roar of pain that shivered the air, completely drowning out the buzzing of the mercs. Carth reached up and grabbed one of the Gamorrean's flailing arms when the Gamorrean started to topple, planted both feet into the Gamorrean's ample stomach and rolled back with a loud grunt while straightening his legs, heaving the Gamorrean through the air up and over to the other side of the table.

Carth rolled with the momentum into a clumsy reverse somersault, slipping in the spilled food and trays and got awkwardly to his feet, wincing as he moved. He wiped the blood off his chin and nose, spitting it out of his mouth, and turned to see what had become of the Gamorrean.

The Gamorrean lay stunned on the floor, in the aisle between tables, gasping and squealing breathlessly as he clutched his broken leg and rolled from side to side. Carth had to restrain himself from apologizing as he walked over to the cleared space. The other mercs watched avidly and silently, the ones in the back standing on the tables to see.

_Dammit, what the hell's taking them so long?_

Stalling for time, Carth slowly brushed the food off his jacket as best he could before stepping over the table, taking a bit more time than was necessary in navigating the puddles and spatters of the remains of breakfast on the floor. The other mercs drew back respectfully as he approached.

_Damn them, where the hell are they?_

Feeling sick to his stomach at what he was about to do, Carth drew back his foot and planted a very precise kick into the Gamorrean's side. It wasn't hard enough to break anything, but the Gamorrean grunted before continuing to squeal.

_Sorry_, Carth thought in apology, and couldn't believe he was actually genuinely sorry for someone like this, but he was.

Carth aimed his next kick at the Gamorrean's face, going for the bloodiest injury possible, and head wounds always bled profusely. His theory was proven correct when his foot collided with the Gamorrean's snout, and blood spurted from his nostrils, spraying on Carth's boot as the Gamorrean exhaled involuntarily.

There was a stir in the back of the crowd of mercs near the doors, Carth noticed as he continued to kick the Gamorrean hard, but not hard enough to break bones. He pretended not to hear the growls and protests as mercs were shoved aside, then he felt hands grab him from behind and pull him back. He struggled, because it wouldn't look convincing if he didn't, but was careful to put up just enough of a fight that they wouldn't stun him.

_It took you guys long enough._

The two large Boro security guards, a husky Aqualish and a tall Twi'lek, pushed Carth facedown onto a table, twisting his arms up painfully behind his back.

"Alright, settle down," one of the guards said, annoyance and disgust evident in his voice as he cuffed Carth roughly on the back of his head.

Cold metal encircled Carth's wrists, then clicked with finality as the handcuffs were locked. Then he was wrenched up from the table and shoved in front of the guards. Carth made sure he had a sullen, angry expression on his face for the benefit of the other mercs, though with all the makeup on it, it was probably redundant.

A two-man team of medics had followed the guards, towing a repulsorlift pallet after them, which they laid on the floor next to the Gamorrean, and heaved the still-squealing fighter onto it. Carth was given no chance to watch because the Aqualish guard shoved him to the doors, the other walking in front of him.

They moved out of the mess hall into the corridor, Carth docilely following the guard now that they were no longer in view of the other mercs. The guards seemed content to let him march between them as long as he didn't give them trouble. The tall Twi'lek led them to the elevator, and the Aqualish bracketed Carth as they stepped into the empty car.

The minutes ticked by in Carth's head, and only the cuffs restraining his hands behind his back kept him from checking his chrono. Surreptitiously, he tested his bonds, to find that it was unlikely he would be able to break them with brute force, as would be expected of restraints that needed to be effective holding the strongest of sentients. He sighed silently, knowing what he had to do, and clasped his hands in a certain way in preparation for it. This was the part where fudging the time couldn't be avoided, not that minute-by-minute plans ever succeeded, because sooner or later, they always broke down from inherent complexity.

Carth and his guards were just about near the door of the brig when it happened.

An explosion rocked the floor and shattered the silence of the white corridor. Both guards halted in their tracks, hands going to the blasters at their sides as they stared wildly around, looking for the source of the sound and the culprit. Fire alarms began to wail.

Using a trick he'd learned from Mission, Carth dislocated his left thumb with a snap, ignoring the sudden pain, and slid his hand through the cuff, at the same time kicking backwards. He managed to catch the Aqualish behind him in the solar plexus; taken by complete surprise, the guard was knocked onto his back, pistol falling from his hand, breath expelled in a noisy exhalation.

The guard in front of Carth was just turning towards him when Carth looped the cord binding his cuffs around the guard's neck like a garrote and pulled. The guard dropped his pistol to claw at Carth's hands, but Carth swung him around, smashing the guard's head into the wall. Carth dropped him and spun around to face the other guard, who was just getting back to his feet, gasping for breath and groping for his fallen pistol. Carth took two steps and lashed out with his foot, striking the man in the temple with his toe. The guard slumped quietly to the floor, and didn't stir.

Only then did Carth take the few seconds necessary to pop his thumb back into its socket, grimacing at the pain as he did so. Then he grabbed the guards' blasters and stuck them into his belt, caught the guards by their collars and dragged them towards the brig.

Carth hurled the guards into the brig when the doors opened automatically, then grabbed at the blasters he'd captured before he ventured in after them cautiously, in case they had a war droid or two in the place. There weren't, to Carth's relief. He palmed the doors closed and locked them, then set a blaster to stun. He knelt and double-tapped each guard in the temple carefully, which should ensure their continued unconsciousness, then put each one into a cell and turned on the forcefields for good measure. The mercs Carth had seen yesterday night weren't there, so they had probably been released this morning.

The brig was a small one, containing just three large cells, each one capable of holding five prisoners, if they didn't mind being stuffed together. There was a refresher for the guards, and a desk console, yes! Carth took a few precious moments to clean up in the refresher, then made a beeline for the console, and hoped it was tied into the network, not a standalone terminal. To his relief, the fire alarms were silenced.

Unzipping his armor, Carth took out a special computer spike from the inside seam of his heavy exoskeleton. It was a creation made from the combined efforts of T3-M4, Revan, Mission and HK-47. The unholy quartet had put their collective minds together to create a device capable of breaking into computer security even if the user wasn't all that proficient at slicing. It broke through encryption and electronic blocks using brute force; the downside was that it was sure to raise all sorts of alarms when used, which was why they'd abandoned the project. They _had_ made a few for the non-slicers of the crew, though, for emergencies.

Since he didn't care anymore about raising alarms, Carth inserted the spike into the brig console and connected his datapad to it, setting it to download. He would hopefully find something of value in the time he had left before someone noticed. He was pretty sure the corridor was monitored, and it was only a matter of time before someone raised the alarm, but until then, he would use what time he had to collect a data dump.

Despite his expectation, Carth still jumped when the alarms started wailing again, in a different tone than before, this one more strident and urgent. Carth eyed the doors nervously, then his datapad, which was still downloading data. He couldn't afford to be trapped in the brig, but the more data he stole, the better. Chewing his lip, he tapped the pad and slipped it into his pocket.

Whatever he had would have to do; he couldn't afford to be captured now. The spike he left in the console; since it had also been created by HK-47, it contained a tiny explosive charge, and with Carth's pad now disconnected, it would now switch over to the self-destruct mode, but would not actually explode until someone else used the terminal. Carth wasn't sure he liked the idea, but it would certainly keep them off his trail for that much longer, because they'd be wary of anymore booby traps he might've left behind him.

Ejecting the power packs from the blasters he'd taken from the guards, Carth dropped them onto the desk, keeping the power packs; he might still find a use for them, and if not, he could always discard them. Then he trotted out the doors, moving to the ramps casually, as though he belonged there and had every right to be there. He moved swiftly, though, as quickly as he could without looking like he was in a hurry. At this time of day, there weren't many sentients around, just a few late stragglers going to the mess halls, and they were too much in a hurry to notice him. They did look baffled at the alarms, so they didn't know what was happening.

That was stupid, to Carth's mind; they had two thousand mercs here, and while they weren't exactly of the highest quality, Sayir could've used them to search for him, instead of relying solely on the Sayir/Boro guards. Even if they didn't use all two thousand, a few platoons would be more than sufficient to conduct a thorough searth. It was unlikely he could fight through more than a dozen all by himself, after all. He could only be grateful, Carth supposed.

His hands busied themselves with the power packs he'd taken from the guards, cracking the casing along the seam with an inert blade, the kind that had no vibration module, and attached a simple chrono he'd bought from the company store to the inside with a lead. He attached another lead to a tiny pellet of demolitions plaster. Carth smiled, remembering his grandfather's wrinkled but strong hands teaching him how to put together blast charges. He'd spent many a happy summer on Telos, blowing things up under his grandfather's kind but stern eye. He thought he even remembered the formula for making black powder... _Let's see, what was it? Saltpeter, sulphur and charcoal...?_ Makeshift explosive charge finished, Carth tucked it into a pocket and unwrapped a stick of chewing gum, also bought from the company store, and popped it into his mouth.

That first explosion which had distracted the guards had been his doing, of course, though he'd had to make the best guess he could on the timer of the homemade bomb. The habitats created by the Sluissi sheltered them from the rather inhospitable planetary environment, but it also made them vulnerable. Fire was an especially feared hazard, not only destroying property but also consuming the precious air in a habitat's atmosphere. Draconian measures had been enacted, such as requiring blast doors on every floor of each building in sections, so that the air--and thus, oxygen--could be pumped out, if necessary, smothering the fires. He had placed that first bomb on one of the power conduits that ran along each floor in House Boro, affixed with chewing gum, to serve as distractions.

Carth moved off the ramp and walked briskly to a niche where he saw another power conduit, and put the gum he'd been chewing on the power pack, then stuck it to the underside of the casing with a casual swipe of his arm. This one was set for ten minutes. He halted in his tracks and hit his head with the heel of his palm, as though he'd forgotten something, then trotted back to the ramps.

Just as he was about to step on the ramp, he heard a thunder of tramping feet on the steps above him. Cursing, Carth retreated, and tried to search for a hiding place. _Damn._ He may have to retreat back down, but he really, really needed to go above. Dammit, he had _not_ come all this way just to be captured. Automatically, his hands dropped to his hips, to touch... nothing. _Damn!_ He'd had to leave his weapons behind, and all he had now was a ceramic slugthrower, one that used combustion-propelled slugs instead of repulsorlift in order to bypass weapons scanners. It only had twelve shots, though, so if he used it at all, he had to use it sparingly. The sounds of approaching guards were getting closer.

_Damn, damn, damn..._

Making up his mind, Carth retreated one level down, where he nearly ran full tilt into a pair of soft cushions. No, not soft cushions, but rather the impressive cleavage of a red-haired Zabrak. Carth nearly groaned in despair; it was Zaie. _Just_ what he needed.

_Anything that _can_ go wrong, will._

"Tav!" Zaie exclaimed in delighted surprise.

Carth forced a frozen smile on his lips, and stifled his impulse to run the other way. Maybe being captured wouldn't be so bad after all... "Hi, Red," he said through stiff lips, moving towards a niche in the wall. This was a different floor from the one he'd planted the bomb on, or there'd be extra urgency in escaping the Zabrak. Zaie followed alongside him, not taking the hint.

"Did you get into another fight again, Tav?" Zaie asked solicitously, touching one bloodred nail to his jaw.

Restraining himself from flinching, Carth smiled fixedly up at the tall Zabrak woman. "Yeah, but it's nothing. So, Red, what're you doing here?" he asked brightly with false cheer.

Zaie smiled down at him. "I was just about to go get breakfast, Tav. Would you like to join me?" she asked invitingly. _And then you could join me in my room afterwards_ hung in the air, unsaid but implied.

"Ah, I, uh..." Carth stammered, at a loss as to how to respond to the invitation, both the spoken and the unspoken. "I'd love to, but, I, uh, I gotta go to training," he finished, attempting to feign disappointment.

Zaie pouted, lower lip sticking out like a plow. "Aw, that's too bad, Tav. Sure you wouldn't like to sit with me, though?" she wheedled, taking his arm.

"Uh..." Carth stalled, straining his ears; was that another troop moving on this floor, in addition to the ones moving down the ramp? _Shit..._ Another squad of Boro guards rounded a corner in the distance, moving towards them, their dark green uniforms standing out starkly in the white corridor.

Carth grabbed Zaie's arm and pulled her into the niche, the power conduit digging uncomfortably into his hip as he squeezed himself into the small space, and hoped the woman's broad bulk would shield him from the guards' sight.

Unfortunately, Zaie mistook his move for something else entirely. Carth found himself pinned to a corner of the niche, yanked nearly off his feet, and arms like corded durasteel wrapped around him. Zaie pressed him into her massive bosom and kissed him.

Carth's eyes widened with panic and surprise, and he desperately tried to gain some leverage on the walls, hands sliding over the smooth, tractionless surface. Finally, he just pushed Zaie away forcibly with his hands on her muscular shoulders, but not before her tongue had stabbed between his stiff lips.

"Uh, Red, this might not be the best place--" Carth began, fighting the urge to gag and spit. The Zabrak's mouth had had a horribly saccharine and cloying taste, reminiscent of sugar-sweetened Corellian fermented molasses. "People will see us!" he babbled, listening to the tramping footsteps approach, closer and closer. This close, that damned annoying perfume of hers crawled up his nostrils like a virulent plague.

"That's half the fun, Tav!" Zaie smiled toothily. "Oh, and I _like_ it rough," she added, before she bit him on the side of his neck, under his chin.

Startled and shocked by the pain, Carth had just enough time to cry, "Ow!" before Zaie assaulted his mouth again with all the bloodthirsty eagerness of a besieging army about to sack a city.

Carth thought wildly of the slugthrower in his waistband, but whether to use it on her or on himself...? His heels hammered against the wall and his arms flailed as Zaie kissed him hard, pressing him against the corner of the niche like a helpless moth.

The explosion beneath their feet stopped the sounds of both of the approaching troops, then Carth heard them run past him and Zaie, the other group retreating back to the ramps and rushing below. He took the opportunity to pry Zaie off him while she was surprised.

Zaie lifted her head, staring out and towards the ramps. "Was it just me, or did the floor move for you, too?" she asked in bemusement as she watched the Boro guards run past; the preoccupied guards ignored them completely.

"I don't--" Carth began, then sneezed. And sneezed again. And again. He slithered out of Zaie's slackened embrace and out of the niche, and nearly doubled over as he was seized by a paroxysm of sneezing. His eyes watered and his nose streamed.

"Tav, are you alright?" Zaie asked, moving towards him.

Carth moved away hastily, fumbling for the handkerchief in his jacket. "I'm fine--" he choked out, sneezing mightily. "Allergies acting up. I, uh, I better go to the sickbay," he stammered in between head-rocking sneezes, and beat a hasty retreat. He rubbed the bite on his neck, and couldn't help wondering if the Zabrak had had all her shots. And if _he'd_ had all of _his_ shots. Talk about being a marked man...

"I'll see you later, Tav! I'll be waiting!" Zaie trilled after him, not so much threatening as promising.

_I'll either be long gone, captured or dead_, Carth thought as he scurried up the ramp without looking back, sneezing all the way. Talk about a fate worse than death... Now he knew how Revan felt, getting pawed over by that junior Sith officer back on Taris. He blew his nose and wiped his streaming eyes as he ran up the ramp, then stuffed the soiled cloth into a pocket. Scrubbing his lips, Carth deplored the lack of mouthwash or a toothbrush on him. _Ugh._ Subtlety was definitely not one of the Zabrak's virtues. He'd spit if he had the time, but it was probably best not to leave any evidence. He popped another stick of gum into his mouth and chewed industriously to get the bad taste off his tongue.

Moving as fast as he could, he took out the remaining power pack and tinkered with it, turning it into another bomb. His nose still itched dreadfully, even now that he was far away from the Zabrak woman. He'd been prepared enough to have brought medpacs, antidotes and a weapon, but somehow he'd overlooked antihistamines, he thought ruefully, rubbing his tender nose vigorously. He took the piece of gum out of his mouth and stuck it to the power pack, then slapped the bomb on a power conduit on another floor before continuing his run up.

Carth pelted down one particular short and wide hall, and headed for the repair depot. Luck or the Force was with him, because the doors weren't locked. He breathed a sigh of relief as he went into the repair depot, into the welcome lack of cameras and quiescent humming of machinery. He'd made it this far, so it wasn't a stretch for him to think that he would get out of this with a whole skin. His escape wasn't successful yet by any means, and he still had a long way to go, with the possibility of capture or being killed every step of the way, but this was a good halfway point to reach.

Skidding on the slick metal floor, Carth looked around for Silam, and spotted him at the other end of the large room, working with two spider droids on a small planetary transport ship. _Perfect._ Quietly, Carth rushed over to the cabinet Silam had shown him yesterday and grabbed an environment suit, a tube of air coils and an oxygen tank. It was good for eight hours, Carth saw, with a full meter on the gauge. He tested it to make sure it worked before hauling it with him behind a disassembled speeder, in case Silam came over, then ran over to close the cabinet.

Both items were horribly bulky; Carth had to use his empty gun holster belts in addition to his jacket's detachable straps to secure them to his back. He slung the entire heavy mess onto his shoulders, jigged a bit in place to settle everything and make sure nothing would come loose at an awkward moment, then moved over to one of the walls. Carth stared up at the dauntingly tall pile of machinery. Dammit, _Revan_ was the expert climber, not him.

Well, no use standing around here and staring up at it like a vacant-eyed bantha; he was wasting what little lead time he had. With a final glance around to make sure Silam hadn't wandered over, Carth rubbed his gloved hands together and reached up to grasp an airfoil.

It was a nerve-wracking journey up the small mountain of machines and equipment, as Carth desperately tried to haul himself and the damned bundle of environment suit and oxygen tank. The ungainly bundle kept throwing his center of balance off, pulling him down with every motion he made. He kept wishing he had Revan's climbing gear, so that there'd be something to keep him from falling, or use it to haul his loot up after him instead of carrying it with him. He could only be grateful he'd had the foresight to don gloves, because he could feel his palms sweating. Very carefully, he didn't look down, keeping his eyes instead on his goal, one of the giant ventilation fans.

Carth sweated underneath his armor and jacket from the exertion, the climb and the skin-crawling expectation that armed guards would burst in at any moment and see him. He was highly visible to anyone below, and it was taking an agonizing eternity for him to get to the top of the heap. Silam could see him from where he was, too, but Carth was confident the little Sullustan, at least, would be much too preoccupied to notice. The irregularity of the pile meant he had plenty of hand- and footholds, but it was balancing the mass on his back that was tricky, and he couldn't afford to rush. This close to the vent, the noise of the fan was almost deafening, drowning out Carth's harsh breathing and the scraping noises he was making as he climbed, so it was a small mercy that Silam couldn't hear him.

With a triumphant gasp, Carth reached the top, and collapsed facefirst on part of a shuttle hull, not caring that the bundle on his back was crushing him down. He just wanted to lie there in a position that wasn't vertical, without the stuff on his back sending him yawing heartstoppingly away from safety. Sweat ran down his face and under his armor, irritating him and making him itch. Reluctantly, he rolled over onto his side, being careful not to hit his head on the low ceiling as he sat up, and untied the straps holding the tank and suit.

Carth carefully examined the grating that concealed the vent above him, and was relieved to see that it was hinged in sections for ease of maintenance, not one huge hatch cover, so that he wouldn't have to get the whole thing open in order to get into the space. Using his knife, he prodded at the crack experimentally. There should be a mechanism somewhere that opened it for cleaning and inspection... then he spotted the small black-and-yellow-striped panel. Unfortunately, it was at the very edge of the hull, nearly out of reach. _Damn._ He would either have to cut through the grating, which was not going to be easy without a vibroblade or laser cutter, or open it using the panel.

After nearly unbalancing the entire heap of machinery beneath him when he crawled over to the end of the hull to reach out to the panel, Carth stopped and sat back, heart still pounding from the near disaster, when he'd nearly toppled off. He cursed under his breath, and looked around the pile for something suitable, a long pipe or something to extend his reach. Only there wasn't anything in sight. He fumed for a moment, contemplating the unwelcome thought that he might have to go back down to get something, and then climb back up with it. If he did have to do that, he wouldn't have to worry about his burden, but he didn't want to waste time on another trip if he could help it. He examined the panel that was tantalizingly just out of reach.

It was a fairly simple affair, just a big button for opening and closing a section of the grating, and readouts that showed the condition of the fan, the last inspection date, replacement date, and so on. It was probably meant for the cleaning droids to use, not people.

Carth stared at the button thoughtfully, then turned out the contents of his pockets. The bread he'd stolen from the mess hall, now crushed and flattened, went on one pile. Then the rest of the junk and debris went on another. It looked singularly unprepossessing and useless. There were the remaining sticks of his gum, some wires left over from his bomb-making, and cannibalized chronos. He hadn't worn his current jacket for long, so he hadn't had much time to build up a collection of junk in his pockets. There was nothing he could use to get that button pressed--

Or maybe he did, Carth thought suddenly. Or he had the fixings for a solution, if not the solution itself. Carth pocketed the food again, then the other items except for the chronos. He unclipped a wide strap from his jacket, detached it, then measured it in his hands, remembering as he did so one of his favorite pastimes of his childhood. His grandfather had taught this to him, too.

The chrono wasn't the most aerodynamic of ammunition, but he didn't have a great deal of distance to bridge. Holding the ends of the strap in his right hand, he put the tiny device in the loop he'd made. He searched again for Silam, who was doing some arc welding on the transport. Good, the mechanic wouldn't hear Carth if he missed.

Carth raised himself up on his knees and twirled the strap as he stared intently at the panel. He leaned back, left arm upraised in front of him for balance, then snapped his right arm out while twisting his torso at the same time, hurling the chrono forward with his makeshift sling.

He missed; Carth cursed as the chrono bounced on the side of the panel and fell down. The only consolation was that the clattering sound the chrono made as it fell was lost amidst the general noise of the depot. Silam didn't even look up. Putting another chrono into his sling, Carth prepared to try again. He settled himself as best he could, calming his breathing and stilling his muscles. It was too much to think he'd succeed on the first try, since he hadn't used a sling in decades. He couldn't afford to miss too often, though, because he only had four left. After that, he would be reduced to throwing bread crumbs.

Taking a deep breath, Carth tried again. And missed, again. Glumly, he watched the chrono clatter down the long way to the floor, bouncing on things. He was sure he got closer this time, but he still hadn't been able to hit the target. For a brief second, he considered using his slugthrower to shoot the panel, but the loud boom of the weapon was sure to attract even the absentminded mechanic.

Carth was down to his second-to-last piece of ammunition before he managed to hit the button. He grinned in exultation, then caught the edge of the grating as it swung down. He peered into the dim recess, his hair blowing in the powerful wind being generated by the huge fan. The fan itself was raised several feet above the grating, just high enough, barely, to accommodate the suit and tank, if he laid the tank on its side. There was a small shaft that extended in both directions, leading to the other fans. Carth couldn't hear anything above the fan's roar, so no one else should be able to hear him banging against the metal sides of the vent.

Wasting no time, Carth heaved the tank into the space, then took off his jacket, bundling the food into it. Then he began to don the bulky suit, attaching the oxygen intake tube to the tank, then into the port on the torso. He turned the valve on the tank to check the seal. The instrument panel on the wide collar of the gorget lit up, showing green on all systems. Carth put on the helmet, sealing it, then put on the cumbersome gloves. Awkwardly, he crawled into the space on his belly, clumsily pulling the grating behind him and locking it once more.

Turning himself around, Carth looked down through the grating. The helmet protected his ears from the incessant whirring roar of the fans, but it was bulky and a bit uncomfortable. If the Sullustan decided to do some more electroplating, Carth would be protected by the suit. It should also shield him from sensors, and silence any tracking devices he might've picked up. Unlikely, but he was damned sure the credit disc the recruiter had given to him concealed a tracker; he had plans for that disc, so he wasn't about to throw it away just yet. The repair depot's machines, the fans and the suit should hide him from the sensors and eyes of any search parties that ventured in.

Carth rolled over onto his back carefully, making sure he didn't tangle his oxygen tube, set a timer on the suit's chrono, and settled back for a nap. Let Revan make the dramatic entrances and exits; he was going to wait like a patient soldier for an opportunity. And all soldiers took the time to sleep whenever they could.

*** * ***

Carth woke up and blinked, wondering what had woken him up, and why the ceiling was gray and so close to his face. Then he remembered, blinking at the instrument panels on the inside of his helmet. The chrono alarm he'd set hadn't triggered yet, though, so what...? He rolled over, a move that would've been impossible had it been a true environment suit, trying to make as little noise as possible, and looked down through the grating. It had been six hours since he'd shaken off his pursuers; by now, they had to know it was him.

What he saw was the disturbance that'd woken him up. Dark green clumps of Boro guards moved in groups as they spread out into the depot. Carth thought they were searching rather half-heartedly, from the way they didn't have their weapons in hands as they moved around with scanners. Just in case, Carth set his suit to the lowest power possible and still have life support systems functioning. The cooling and air circulation systems were the only ones he had still activated, so that he could breathe and he wouldn't show up in infrared sensors; he would just have to hope the suit's systems would be at a low enough power that they wouldn't register amongst the rest of the depot's machinery interference.

Carth ignored the growing discomfort as best he could, and turned up the volume on the helmet's auditory sensors, trying to listen in on the conversation between Silam and the leader of the Boro troops. All Carth could hear was the blowing roar of the fans, though, so he shut them off. He could read their body postures, anyway.

The leader of the troops was obviously annoyed and angry, making wide sweeping gestures with his arms while he talked to Silam. Silam nodded placatingly, probably saying he'd seen Carth, but telling the troop leader he hadn't seen him since last night. The other guards, looking bored with their scanners held carelessly in their hands, came to report to the leader, showing the results of their sensor sweep. They must've thought Carth had escaped long ago, because the leader shook his head disgruntledly, looking harrassed, and took his guards out. Carth breathed out a silent sigh of relief, watching them leave. Silam shrugged and waddled back to his latest project, a long and graceful swoop bike, one of the new Firestar racers.

Carth turned the suit's systems back to full power, and shifted into a more comfortable position now that the repulsorlift enabling the suit's movement kicked back in. He checked the state of his suit; the oxygen level meter was blinking a slow amber at him, warning of low levels, showing he had about two hours left. His stomach growled at him at that moment, telling him he'd missed lunch and dinner. Silam probably didn't intend to do anymore electroplating at the moment, so Carth turned off the oxygen valve and unsealed his helmet, reaching over to the bundle of his jacket. He watched Silam enviously as the Sullustan tinkered with the swoop engine, and wolfed down the now-stale bread, sipping water from the suit's supply through a tube. The water was rather metallic tasting, but he'd had much worse.

When half an hour had passed, Carth pressed the grating lock and opened it, then slithered out with a thump onto the ship hull, on his hands and knees. Silam showed no sign he'd heard, probably because he was using a vac on the swoop. Carth took off the suit and put his jacket back on after brushing the crumbs off it. Then he just stuffed the suit back into the vent and closed the grating. No doubt Silam would eventually find a suit had gone missing, along with an oxygen tank, but Carth hoped to be long gone by then. The Sullustan was probably absentminded enough to not notice until the next inventory check.

Now came the part he dreaded, the climb down. Carth sighed gustily, and set to it.

By the time Carth reached the bottom, he was sweating again, his arms, hands and legs aching. He rested for a moment, then trotted to the junkpile. Getting past Silam was child's play; Carth doubted anything short of a speeder convoy would attract the Sullustan's attention, Force bless him. It was easy enough to find a nook in the depot's machinery near the junkpile to hide in, and he settled down for a wait, using the time to secrete the credit disc and its tracker into the camera case on his belt. It wasn't a perfect fit, but the camera case might hide the disc's emissions well enough, since no guards came to investigate.

The doors beeped, right on time, and started to slide apart. Carth stood and readied himself. A large freighter, just as Silam had said, hovered in front of the doors, but didn't come in. It looked huge and ungainly, nothing more than a long rectangular box fitted with repulsorlift and thrusters. Carth chewed his lip in frustration. It was several meters away, and Carth noted glumly that the depot was on a rather high floor. The back of the freighter gaped open, then started pulling the junkheap into its maw using a tractor beam and magnetic field to clump it together. Carth waited until the freighter had taken nearly everything, then started running towards it.

Carth thought about nothing but his goal, not thinking about being seen, Silam, the door monitor or the freighter, his entire focus narrowing to the freighter's cargo bay. He especially didn't think about the very long drop to the bottom should he miss his goal. He sprang out on the threshold of the depot doors, and threw himself across the yawning chasm.

* * *

Sorry I'm late again, folks, but here's an extra long chapter for you!

With thanks to Prisoner24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback. Oh, and it was her idea to end this chapter at this point, so send your flames, gripes and complaints care of Prisoner24601, not me. Any other mistakes are mine, though.

Reitz: Heh, she might've, yanno. Morgana is what David Gaider (the guy who wrote Carth, Jolee, HK-47 and some of Bastila) called her in kotorfanfic's chat last year, but it's not anywhere in the game.

rimwalker: Gosh, thanks. It's good to know all my efforts writing Dustil pay off.

Ceridan: It's been a long time since I've seen you review. :) Er, so lemme get this straight, are you saying I have too much action? I think R.A. Salvatore sucks... Never heard of the other author.

Feza's twin: You find out here just how much longer he's undercover. :) Poor Dustil will get better. (Or will he? :evil cackle:)

Kazic: Aw, I would've loved to hear what your review was. And yes, yes, she did, but whether Carth will go is another question, no? And the point is moot by this time... Thanks and glad you enjoyed the flashback.

Nyvanna: Heh, thanks. I guess being trapped with a cute girl isn't such a bad fate, after all. :) And too late about the baldness...

VMorticia: He's about eight in the flashback. Not so much an inability as trying to talk through a dry throat and tongue. And Dustil didn't just have low blood pressure, he also had internal bleeding from his ruptured spleen. That does cause hallucinations and waking dreams.

Kosiah: Thanks. :) And lots of people do Revan's POV lots better than me, so I won't be doing hers anymore.

Annakie: Glad you're enjoying. :)

Kabexx: Aw, thanks, and I'm glad you enjoyed.

Menolly Onasi: Thanks!

Lunatic Pandora1: She would've, yeah.

Prisoner 24601: I don't think I could compete with your Morgana...

snackfiend101: Heh, thanks.

Firera: No, he doesn't blush in game, but I'm sure he would if the graphics engine accommodated it. And is Lady Versenne head over heels in love with Dustil? I dunno, is she? :)

Mystress Daedra: Glad you enjoyed.


	54. Transitions

**Chapter 54: Transitions**

There was a moment of stomach-dropping vertigo, then Carth's hands slammed onto the lip of the freighter's cargo bay. In accordance with the laws of gravity, the rest of his body slammed into the side of the freighter with bone-jarring force. Carth hung by nothing but his hands over the bottomless drop for a few nerve-wracking seconds.

_Don't look down, don't look down, don'tlookdowndon'tlookdown..._

Not looking down didn't mean he couldn't feel the complete emptiness beneath his dangling feet, or the rising thermals tugging at his hair. The edge of the bay was too wide for his fingers to grip for more leverage, and he was acutely conscious of the fact that his fingers were the only things keeping him from plunging a very long way down. His hands tightened convulsively as best they could on the slick metal. Swinging his legs from side to side and scrabbling with his boots, his arms trembling with the effort of holding up all of his weight, Carth managed to get a leg over the edge of the bay, taking the pressure off his arms and shoulders.

The freighter was almost finished with taking all the junk, Carth noticed, ducking to avoid getting hit by the current batch of metal debris it was tractoring in. He had only a little more time to take stock of his situation, and decide whether to cling to the freighter on the inside or the outside. Carth put on his light-scan visor and checked out the dark, unlit confines of the freighter.

He dangled from his precarious perch above a long drop, where he saw irregular mounds of metal and debris the freighter had already taken. The repulsorlift and magnetic field generators were located on the inside of the roof, where they held the junk in a cluster for a moment, then shut off, dropping the mass down with loud booming noises as it hit the bottom, separating into its component pieces again. Finished with its work, the doors of the freighter were sliding closed, and Carth was caught between them. He didn't think it had sensors to see if there was anything stuck in the doors, and made the decision to cling to the outside when he saw no manual control on the inside to open the doors. _Damn._

Carth looked hurriedly around for handholds of some sort on the freighter. Desperately trying not to think about how high up he was, Carth stood, put both feet on the ledge and jumped up to grab the lip of a small overhang above the doors. There was a horrible moment that stretched into a heartstopping eternity, where he was terribly conscious of the fact that he'd just jumped up from the ledge on a ship in midair, and his feet stood on absolutely nothing. Then his hands clutched at the smooth metal in a death grip. He swung his body back and forth to gain momentum, then flipped himself up and over onto the top of the ship. Carth lay there for a moment, catching his breath and willing his heart to stop pounding so damned fast.

There was no reaction from the freighter to his presence, but then the Sullustan mechanic did say it was automated. The surface of the roof was slippery beneath his boot soles, so Carth stayed down on his belly and crawled to his goal, the control antennae. It was a slim pillar-like object near the front of the ship that let the salvage computer control the freighter remotely, but it would also make a handy place for him to cling to the top when it moved.

Which it did at that moment, and he wasn't nearly ready for it yet. Carth clung like a Tatooine sand leech and hugged the top as the freighter swung ponderously around and started to move. Crawling forward determinedly, Carth made for the control antennae, and didn't breathe until he had clamped his arms and legs firmly around it.

Carth kept his light-scan visor on to protect his eyes from the wind as the freighter accelerated. It was nearly evening, and stars blazed down through the dome of the capital city habitat, matching the stars made by the city's lights. He didn't have the leisure to admire the view, because he needed to find a place to get off the freighter before it entered the airlock tubes that went to the other habitats. He reached down and freed the credit disc from the camera case and put it into a pocket. He wasn't sure how far of a reach the tracker had, and they might lose the signal if he entered one of the other habitats.

_Let the games begin._ Carth sardonically threw a mental salute to his pursuers, and promised them a chase they wouldn't forget.

To Carth's annoyance but not surprise, the freighter started for one of the airlocks on the edge of the habitat, away from House Boro. What did surprise him was when the freighter made an unexpected turn, moving down to another building, this one shorter than House Boro. Carth stood, keeping his grip on the antennae, thinking this could be his chance.

His hands tightened on the smooth plasteel pillar as the freighter increased speed, feeling his hair blown nearly flat to his skull by the wind of the ship's passage. It was actually going pretty slow, but the distinct lack of a seatbelt, safety harness and brakes, not to mention the lack of a hull and anti-grav cushions, made him feel a lot more vulnerable. Speeders and swoops of all sizes flew past in air traffic patterns, taking no note of the crazy human taking a joyride on the skin of the ship. They were swift and agile compared to the lumbering freighter, which was moving in the freight lane with the other large and slow-moving vehicles.

Keeping his grip on the pillar and shifting his balance, Carth held on tight as the freighter angled down towards an impressive-looking edifice, all gleaming reflective windows and shining chrome-plated durasteel. Some sort of office building, perhaps, or showrooms, built in a prime real estate location close to a nexus point of transport tubes; it lacked the practical and functional lines of most Houses that favored protection over beauty. The freighter swung around towards the back, the side that faced outwards towards the skin of the dome, and wasn't nearly as pretty as the façade. It was heading towards a service entrance of some sort, down near the middle of the building.

A pair of doors, similar to the ones in the Boro repair depot, slid aside, revealing a vast space, larger and higher than Silam's repair depot, neater and less crowded. A neat bank of speeders and swoops sat to the side, and a large but tidy stack of cubes sat near the doors. The cubes were made of crushed metal parts, shaped for ease of handling and conservation of space. There was only one sentient Carth could see from his perch on top of the freighter, a Zeltron in overalls who was working at a console.

As the freighter maneuvered itself with computer-controlled precision to the entrance, Carth prepared himself. The ship was again standing off a few meters from the threshold of the building. The clearance of the service entrance was high, but it was going to be quite a long trip across and down. Carth didn't think of that, making himself think only of the goal, his world narrowing to the long length of the freighter he needed to traverse.

The moment the freighter finished positioning itself and hovered nearly motionless relative to the doors, Carth took off. He pelted across the long spine of the freighter, running as fast as he could, his boots hammering on the metal surface, then launched himself from the nose. He sailed across the empty space, stomach and heart rising in his chest in defiance of gravity as he hung in nothingness, then his boots slammed down onto permacrete, the impact jarring up his feet and ankles. He dropped and rolled to shed momentum, tumbling past the very surprised Zeltron, who had frozen at his console, mouth agape as he stared at Carth.

Whimsically, Carth waved a hand in the vicinity of his forehead in mock salute at the Zeltron, and said cheerfully, "Evening, sir. Nice night out, isn't it?" before trotting to the exit at the end of the room, leaving the Zeltron opening and closing his mouth like a landed fish, and muttering about crazy humans.

Carth quickly headed for the building's exit, consulting a handy directory plaque. Now he needed to get to a spaceport--any spaceport. The capital city habitat had several, with one of the largest on or off Sluis Van. It was near the middle of the city, so Carth moved fast, mindful of the pursuit that may even now be chasing after him. His disreputable appearance cleared a way for him through the office workers going off shift, all of whom gave him a wide berth even though he looked unarmed. He smirked, scaring a couple of Twi'lek women into scurrying ahead; that much hadn't changed.

Catching an automated speeder-cab when he finally reached the street, Carth had it take him straight to the Sluis Van city spaceport, deliberately using his Boro credit disc to pay his fare. For this phase of the chase, he would be straightforward. Nervously, he watched the skies through the cab's windows for Sayir and Boro speeders, but saw none in the rapidly fading light. It was only a matter of time, though.

The speeder-cab took him to the elevated spaceport, a huge tower-like building that rose up from the middle of the city to merge with the habitat's dome in order to release shuttles and starships into space. Flocks of vehicles of all sizes circled the imposing edifice like birds, and his speeder-cab merged with one of the wheeling groups easily and seamlessly. Carth drummed his fingers with impatient agitation on his armrest as they flew towards one of the many entrances, just one vehicle among many. Now that he was actually out of House Boro, he couldn't wait for all of this to be over.

_Almost there..._

Springing out of the cab seat like a kath hound on the trail of prey into the vast, labyrinthine corridors of the spaceport, Carth headed for the nearest ticket booths. The bright lights startled his eyes after the dimness of the cab and the falling night outside. He hurried past crowds of sentients, keeping a close eye out for pursuit, but found none. Yet.

The endless corridors of the spaceport were bright and colorful with sentients from all races and the commercial advertisements on the walls, vidscreens and holos clamoring for his attention, all of it a stark contrast to the quiet, simple white halls in House Boro. Scents and smells of cooking from food shops and store displays filled his nose as he walked quickly past through the crowds. _No time for sightseeing_, Carth thought as he headed towards a large bank of ticket vending machines.

Carth punched up a large menu of ships and departures and skimmed the listings for something leaving soon, but one with a still-open boarding window. _Coruscant, Agamar, Duro, Rodia... Ah-ha! Corellia!_ There was a fast passenger freighter ship leaving in half an hour, with fifteen minutes left for stragglers and last-minute arrivals to get aboard. There were still a few seats available.

_Perfect._ Carth inserted the Boro credit disc into the slot and bought an expensive first-class ticket, using up much of the funds on the disc, took the bright purple chit that the machine extruded, then headed for the elevators. For versimilitude, Carth paused and bought a bag and some clothes from a nearby store, again using his Boro credit. Then he went in search for the freighter's docking bay, moving swiftly.

Several minutes later, Carth found himself in docking bay RNP-81, where he saw the freighter sitting on the launchpad with its engines running, the vibration of the ship pulsing up his boots. An airlock was open invitingly, and a protocol droid stood beside it, greeting passengers and taking their tickets.

Carth's eye fell on one of the passengers standing in line, a stoop-shouldered, middle-aged human who looked like a businessman, brown economy-class ticket in his hand. As he walked up nonchalantly to the businessman, Carth looked around. Still no sign of pursuit as yet.

"Excuse me, sir," Carth said in a low voice, tapping the human on the shoulder.

The short businessman turned around and blanched, seeing Carth looming over him, eyes widening as he took in Carth's tattoo; Carth supposed he didn't look very harmless. "Y-y-yes?" the man stammered nervously in accented Basic, eyes darting everywhere, looking for help or escape.

Carth decided not to smile, not needing to panic the poor man. He held up his ticket. "I ordered late, and I couldn't get a seat near my friend. I was hoping you'd like to exchange seats with me."

Eyes darting to the brightly colored ticket in Carth's hand, the man stammered, "But, but, but that's a _first-class_ ticket! Mine's only economy class." Beads of sweat started on the man's balding head, clearly fearful of Carth's reaction to this.

"I know, but my friend's in economy-class, and all the economy-class tickets are sold out," Carth said. Impatient, he showed a bit more teeth than he really needed to in a smile. "Look, I'm in a hurry, so if you could just trade me yours..."

The man's eyes were wide with disbelief and a bit of greed, but he held out his ticket gingerly, as though he expected Carth to take the hand with it. Carth pressed his ticket into the man's slack hand, snatched the brown ticket, and left.

Carth headed into one of the spaceport's numerous public refreshers and dropped his credit disc into a nearby toilet, then flushed it down. That should take care of the tracker--the most obvious one, anyway. Let Sayir take their turn into the sewers to find him, if they didn't fall for the ticket-exchange ruse. The ticket and duffel bag he dropped in a corner of the refresher; he was sure someone else could find a use for them.

Now he just had to stay out of sight... He was about to step back out of the refresher when he saw a flash of dark green in the corner of his eye. Carth threw himself back into the refresher, slugthrower in his hand and his thumb on the safety, eyes darting around the ceramic-tiled space, looking for an alternate escape route. To find none. Damn, he was caught in a dead end. Heart pounding, Carth waited for the doors to burst in with Sayir/Boro guards, but nothing happened.

After several minutes passed with nothing more exciting happening than a cleaning droid coming out of its niche--which he nearly shot--Carth risked a peek out, but there was no one outside but the usual crowd of sentients. A Twi'lek approached, but hastily retreated, eyes widening when he saw the gun in Carth's hand. Concealing his gun again, Carth headed cautiously out, eyes alert for the dark green of his pursuers. The huge, teeming crowds would help to hide him, but he really needed to get away, and fast. He took his jacket off and reversed it; it was a cheap, dubious trick, and he had no way to hide his looks except for a visor, but it might help.

Instead of taking another cab this time, Carth hopped onto a crowded public transport module at one of the port's many stations, sandwiched uncomfortably between a large and heavyset Bothan and a thin Verpine, both of whom looked like they would rather not have him anywhere in their personal space, given how their eyes kept lingering on his tattoo.

The spot between his shoulderblades itched and the skin on the back of his neck crawled, but Carth didn't spot anymore dark green Boro uniforms--which didn't mean they weren't chasing him, he reminded himself. Just because some were in uniform didn't mean others would be so conspicuous. And that credit disc tracker may not be the only one on him. He doubted they would be subtle if they caught up with him, so it would be best for everyone concerned that he get out of such a target-rich environment such as the spaceport.

Minutes later, Carth stepped onto a station in Transients Dome, and headed for one particular mail depot, following directions he'd memorized from Revan's datapad. The depot was almost as busy as the spaceport Carth had left; he had to duck and dodge sentients and droids carrying packages of all sizes to and from the large warehouse-like space, most of them driving their repulsorlift carriers like starfighters. Shelves reached the length of the room and touched the ceiling, with catwalks set at every level. The effect was rather like being in a beehive. This being Sluis Van, all the catwalks were decorated with colorful holo and vidscreen advertisements, which added to the general cacophony.

Carth traversed several platforms and walks to reach a small box, identical to all the other ones of its size in the depot, with no distinguishing features. He pressed his palm to the identity panel inset in the box's cover and felt a moment's worry, wondering if Revan had set it to the correct palmprint; he currently wore different ones, after all.

His fears proved unfounded when the lock beeped and the small door swung open obligingly. Carth reached in and grabbed a small but heavy package that clanked promisingly. He slung it under one arm and headed out of the depot, not wanting to stay in one place for any length of time.

A few minutes of walking through the crowded streets turned up yet another transport module station, a different one from which he'd disembarked earlier. He got off at Sseth Dome, one of the downside habitats, caught another cab, and headed for Kes Dome.

For the next couple of hours Carth took a long, circuitous and serpentine tour of all the habitats, switching to other stations randomly. He endured it patiently, knowing it was necessary, but it kept him from getting home all the same. The journey was all compressed into a blur in his eyes, such that the no doubt beautiful sights of the habitats in all their nightly glory were but flashes and streaks of light in his memory. The only consolation was that he was no longer crowded, and sat in comfort on one of the seats, now that the rush hour was over. Needless to say, the other passengers avoided him.

Carth got off in Hes Dome and headed for another spaceport. This one was smaller and more utilitarian than the capital city's, serving freighters and cargo carriers more than passenger liners, so there were fewer sentients around, relatively. It was still busy with droids and cargo lifters. He headed for the passenger amenities.

Pumping a few credits into the slot, Carth stepped into the private refresher and locked the door behind him. It was prettier and more comfortable than a public refresher, built to hold one sentient. He opened the box and dumped out the contents onto the sink counter.

There were his favorite blades and blasters, a datapad, four bottles, a large bag of credits, a small box and a new set of clothes in a small pack. He stripped and showered, using the bottle marked 'skin' to get rid of the pasty-white complexion to show the old olive color, then used the bottle marked 'hair' to wash the dun hair dye out. All of this took only a few minutes or so, then he stepped up to the sink to look into the mirror.

It was a small mercy that he didn't have to take a metabolizer to color his hair and do the whole rigamarole with the color-targeting gel like he'd had to with his Nasi disguise. _That_ had been a huge pain in the backside, especially when he'd impatiently tried to do everything all at once, and came out with flaming red hair that shaded gradually to pink at his toes. It had been especially startling against the swarthy skin dye. Revan had insisted upon a _full_ examination of his blunder, after she stopped rolling on the floor in laughter. His lips twitched in a self-deprecating smile. It _was_ hilarious, but at the time he'd been mortified and embarrassed as hell. _This_ dye was a lot easier to apply and remove, at least.

The third bottle held a nasty-smelling goop of some sort, which Carth spread with some trepidation on his face. The minute the stuff started to dissolve, the makeup sloughing off in a rather disgustingly organic manner, it made his face itch. Horribly. The bird-of-prey tattoo began to run, then oozed down from his brow and cheek in swirling red and blue colors like a wet watercolor painting. He was a little sorry to see it go, because it had been rather intricate and exquisite, but it made him look even more frightening than his scarred Nasi face.

_So many faces, which one is real?_ he thought whimsically, using his fingers to brush the remains of Tav Tagar off his cheeks and nose, revealing the more rakishly handsome--if badly scarred--features of his Nasi identity.

There were two days' worth of stubble on his jaw, Carth noticed as he wiped the runny makeup off his face, which should add to his disguise. Since there was no one else there... Carth scratched his face and chin furiously, giving his stubbled cheeks a good, hard rub, and sighed relief, so glad to get that crap off.

A change of eye contacts from the small box, and his eyes were green again, not hazel, completing the transformation. He placed his palms on the box, which was also the palmprint scanner, and felt a tingle on his fingers as the mechanism reset his prints from Tav Tagar back to Nasi.

Carth used the last bottle on his armor, applying the solvent to dissolve the epoxy holding the ugly patches on his heavy exoskeleton, and quickly pried them all off. Before he put it back on, he ran the scanner minutely over it, scanning the crevices and seams for trackers, but found none, to his relief. As an afterthought, he scanned his boots and himself, but still found nothing. He dressed quickly, noting the bruises on his back and jaw, his swollen nose... and the rather prominent red bite on his neck. Carth stared at it in consternation, but he could hardly use his precious few medpacs to fix it, though he was greatly tempted, wincing as he imagined Dustil's and Revan's probable reactions to it.

Strapping his weapons on, blasters going into shoulder holsters this time instead of on his wrists, and feeling safer just having their weights there, Carth headed out after slinging the pack on, putting the light-scan visor back on. He threw his old clothes and empty bottles into the nearest disposer, then took out the datapad as he headed for the nearest transport module.

And frowned in perplexment. Instead of some sort of text message, _Confirm identity_ blinked on the screen.

Carth deliberated, then tapped in 'Nasi' as he waited on the platform of the transport module station, just one of many sentients in the crowd.

_Where was our first kiss?_

Grinning, Carth tapped in 'Star Forge'. The next question was, _Where was our first time?_

Tapping in 'Coruscant', Carth smiled, remembering that very pleasant and delightful night. He looked up, hearing a transport arriving, then turned his attention back to the pad.

_Last question, flyboy. Which part did I threaten to cut off when you got cheeky?_

Carth laughed out loud, startling the other sentients on the platform, all of whom sidled nonchalantly away from him when they took in his scarred face, armor and weapons.

Swallowing his mirth, Carth typed in 'ear', absently joining the influx of passengers flowing into the transport.

_Carth, if you're reading this, you're obviously alive and well enough--and sober enough--to see straight._ Carth snorted. _The address Dustil and I are staying at is here..._ He frowned, noting that it wasn't the same hotel they'd been staying at. Amusement faded into worry and puzzlement as he continued to read.

_We may not be here when you arrive, but you should be able to get in, since I've set the lock to open to your palmprint, too. If we're not here, there'll be a datapad with directions and a note. A lot's been happening, and I can't tell you all of it like this, but I promise you full explanations when you meet back up with us._

_You'd better_, Carth thought, worry increasing rather than decreasing the more he read, only a fraction of his attention focused on getting into a seat on the transport.

_Watch out for Sluis Van police... not all of them are real. They may try to capture you, using some ruse to get you to let your guard down. The ones who tried it with us had blaster rifles in addition to blaster pistols--police don't usually carry anything heavier than blaster pistols--so that may be one way for you to spot them. We think there are around fifty on Sluis Van, which may or may not be accurate, but you will likely be outnumbered if you encounter them. Be careful._

_Dustil and I both miss you very much, and although he won't say it, he's as worried as I am about you._ Carth's heart couldn't help warming at that. _Love you, and see you soon. And may the Force be with you._

The message wiped itself after a moment, and Carth smelled burning electronics as the pad not only erased its own memory, but also self destructed. He raised his eyebrows at this rather dramatic tactic, and put the pad into a pocket.

Stretching out his legs as much as he could in the narrow seating space, Cart leaned back and thought. Revan's gift for understatement was notorious, and he couldn't help but wonder what the two had been up to. Nothing good, he was willing to bet.

The bit about the policemen was especially worrying... had they run into the law here? Revan was canny enough to talk her way out of anything--or _into_ anything--but Dustil... Dustil seemed to have the Onasi temper, and Carth wasn't sure Dustil could keep it if he were pushed.

He smiled ruefully, and a bit sadly at that, because he wasn't sure the son he knew wouldn't be that way, regardless of his Sith training. Maybe the Jedi training would temper that anger.

Or... not. It was an uphill battle, sometimes, and he despaired of ever getting Dustil to get along with him. He sighed, clasping his hands behind his head. The situation called for patience, which had never been one of his virtues, outside of a battle. He tried to console himself with the fact that Dustil seemed to have come a long way from the angry, hateful boy--_man_, he corrected himself, for about the umpteenth time--he'd met on Korriban.

_He's not trying to kill me anymore_, was not, however, the greatest endorsement he'd ever heard for their relationship. Carth sighed again. Time was what was needed, not maudlin wallowing in self-pity.

Carth got off at the next stop in Transients Dome, keeping a wary eye out for not only Sayir/Boro guards, but Sluis Van police, too, and found himself wishing for more than his own two overworked eyes. The ever-present crowds in the streets gave him a wide berth, respecting his weapons if not his face. He climbed up the stairs rather than taking a platform, to one of the advertisement-laden boardwalks connecting the upper floors of the district's buildings to each other, and headed towards one of the landings for speeder-cabs.

Below, he could see other boardwalks meandering their way between buildings, and similar paths above cast their lights down, shining in the darkness. The advertisements cast enough ambient radiance for the paths to be lit as brightly as day. He'd picked a stop at random, and he seemed to have landed in one of Transient Dome's many shopping districts. The walks haphazardly connected shops and boutiques at different levels of the buildings above the stores on street level. From the architectural differences, not all of the walks had been built at the same time, likely because more were added later to take more and more foot traffic.

There were plenty of sentients walking along the suspended paths, high velocity-activated forcefields and rails keeping them from plunging over a meters-high drop. The walk expanded into a large platform in the middle, with rails that opened on the edge for cabs to maneuver alongside.

Carth passed a pair of young lovers, both of them wrapped around each other and staring at the stars, with no attention to spare for anyone or anything else. He felt a sharp stab of envy for them as he moved unhurriedly towards the landing.

Publicity had kept him and Revan from having any such similar innocent meetings in public. They couldn't even walk unmolested along the streets hand-in-hand without wearing disguises, although he had to admit private assignations had its charms, too. He leaned against the rail as he waited for a cab to land, pose casual and relaxed, but his eyes watched everyone and everything around him alertly.

And that was another thing... neither of them could afford to relax their vigilance outside of a safe place--and there were few places safe enough to satisfy either of them. Not even Fleet HQ had been sancrosanct. Not even the Jedi Temple. Sometimes he wondered if there was a place safe enough for the both of them to just live in peace. He snorted ruefully. _Are you sure you wouldn't go crazy with boredom at the end of the first week?_

Maybe he could take Revan on a walk here, catch dinner at a restaurant, just the two of them. No one would bother to mob a couple of smugglers out having a good time like they would for two heroes of the Star Forge. He shook his head sharply. The situation was too dangerous for them to take any time out for themselves, yet. Maybe when it was all over...

_I thought it was all over when Malak died and the Star Forge was destroyed. And before _that_, I thought it was all over when the Mandalorian Wars ended._

He sighed at his own naïveté. When was the universe going to give them a break?

_I could walk away_, a small voice murmured persuasively in the back of his head. _Run off with Revan, go somewhere, anywhere--Huttspace, the Outer Rim, the Unknown Regions--it doesn't matter... It'd be the most splashy elopement ever..._ Carth sighed again, this time in disgust, knowing he wouldn't do it. Couldn't do it. All he still knew was duty. He didn't know how to do anything else, but by the Force, he knew his duty. _Duty, my second wife._

It was unlikely the Jedi would let him get away with it, anyway. Jolee would be on his side, but what was one old man's opinion against millenia of precedent, the Jedi Council and the triumvirate specters of Exar Kun, Malak and Darth Revan? Even if the old man _was_ a Jedi Master now. Bastila could probably track Revan down all by herself.

Carth flinched, imagining the storm of fear, uncertainty, doubt and outrage that would ensue. Like as not Revan would be blamed for running off with their straitlaced war hero, when it'd most likely be the other way around. Little did they know Force compulsion would have no part in it. He didn't need to be Forced to lose his mind, he could do _that_ all by himself. He chuckled ruefully again, laughing at himself. The idea had a certain charm to it, though. Tempting.

All this was assuming Revan would let him take her away from it all. Although... she might not protest too much if they took, oh, a week or so off somewhere. Alakatha, maybe. Somewhere far away and remote.

The only real problem to sharing a life with Revan was... Dustil. Carth flipped his visor up, rubbing the bridge of his nose and his face, feeling tired suddenly, even after his six-hour nap. Despite the seemingly smooth surface of their relationship, Carth knew Dustil still seethed--albeit quietly--about it. With an explosion to follow soon after...? Another trait Dustil seemed to share with his old man, Carth thought, remembering the times he'd blown up at Revan for no reason better than frustration, really.

His fingers moved automatically to rub at his temple, as though anticipating the headache he would have, thinking about the friction between Revan and Dustil. When did it all get so damned _complicated_?

_Do you want to avoid the greatest things in life simply because they come with some complications?_ Jolee jeered dryly at him in his head.

_No._ Carth unconsciously squared his jaw and straightened a bit from his lackadaisical slouch. _No, I'm not. I'll make it work. Somehow._

Carth frowned suddenly, glancing at his chrono. It was taking an awfully long time for a speeder-cab to arrive... Then he noticed the light signal wasn't on. It'd been on when he arrived at this landing, so what had happened? He tensed, eyes sweeping his environs more carefully, and looked for escape routes.

The lights in his section of the railing blinked out suddenly, plunging the platform into darkness. Carth cursed, finding himself night-blind, and hurriedly flipped the light-scan visor onto his face from his forehead. He switched over to infrared, and saw red-lit figures approaching him cautiously on both sides of the walk, at least six of them. He was trapped between two groups of three, and his visor showed him the long barrels of blaster rifles in their hands.

_Oh, damn._

There were only three directions that presented themselves, short of sprouting wings--or having an anti-grav belt--so he couldn't go up. He could attempt to fight and try to break through one of the groups. Or...

Not thinking about it, concentrating on just _doing_ it, Carth vaulted over the railing he'd been leaning against. For a moment, he hung by his fingertips, feet dangling yet again over nothingness, then he let go. He fell, the wind of his passage rippling his clothes and hair, then the impact juddered up his boots to his ankles and legs as he landed on the boardwalk below, but he hadn't fallen fast enough or far enough to activate the safety forcefields. He rolled and came back up, startling the pedestrians who'd been walking along the path he'd dropped onto.

There were startled shouts and curses from above, but Carth wasn't about to assume they were the only groups around. He started down again, leaning over to see if there was another walkway below. Keep them off balance, grab the initiative and run with it, that's what he had to do. He couldn't afford to get tangled up with them, much as it galled him to be running away.

Revan's message said they'd posed as police, but it seemed they'd abandoned that tactic and were taking a more direct approach. It had been too dark for him to see if they were still in police disguise, and his infrared didn't show colors, just heat signatures. It was possible that they were, and would use the false authority of their uniforms to make their way through the crowds faster than he could.

_Looks like the chase is back on._ Carth bared his teeth in a grim smile as he ran along the walk. He vaulted over the railing again, earning him startled gasps, and swung himself onto it. Instead of dropping down, he ran along the fairly broad edge and leapt across to another boardwalk that was angled slightly down and over, but wasn't connected to the same set he'd just left. As he caught the smooth metal surface of the railing, he thought wryly of the fact that he seemed to be spending a great deal of time suspended in the air and above great heights lately.

_And Revan's not even here to push me off a high ledge._ He shook his head as he pelted down another walkway, doing his best not to shove people aside. Fortunately, the crowds weren't as thick on the walks as they were on street level.

There was a rustle of noise on the walks he'd left, and he heard masculine shouts as they moved to chase him. He couldn't keep running forever; his breath was starting to rasp, and he was going to run out of walks sooner or later. Carth could tell from the noises behind him that there were at least two groups after him; there could be more. Most likely more, recalling from the message that there were at least fifty on the planet. He didn't know if all fifty were on his tail, or just six, but he doubted the six were the only ones.

That left him few options: he could stand and fight, which would let them come at him en masse if they called reinforcements, outnumbered and outgunned; he could continue running and run out of energy and walkway eventually; or run and hide, and go to ground somewhere.

The last option seemed the wisest, and the only one that made sense, being outnumbered without backup. For a moment he considered trying to contact Revan and Dustil, but discarded the idea immediately. They may or may not be in Transients Dome, and he couldn't assume his pursuers hadn't tapped into the communications net. His call could lead Revan and Dustil straight into a trap. Had he still been a soldier in the Fleet, he would've called for help, but standard operating procedure for a soldier caught behind enemy lines didn't apply to covert ops.

Not to mention that doing something like that would be like sending out a signal flare pinpointing his exact location, even with the heavily encrypted band they were using on their personal communicators. They didn't need to know what was being said to know where a signal had originated from. No, communications blackout conditions still existed. For the moment, he was on his own.

Okay, there were lots of places in Transients Dome for him to hide, but the problem was _keeping_ hidden. They'd found him somehow, though. Since he knew for sure that there were no trackers on him, it couldn't be through electronic means. His paranoia reared up for a moment, whispering of compromised mail depot boxes and a setup, but it couldn't explain the presence of the unique weapons he wore, nor the message Revan had left him. Those were things no one else knew.

Unless... unless Revan had been captured and had had the information tortured out of her. Fear squeezed his heart for a moment, not his laboring lungs. But, no... he may not like the fact that his lover had been the former Dark Lord--the understatement of the millenium--but it did mean she was no pushover. She was safe... as much as anyone could be safe in a place where civil unrest could break out at any moment. And Dustil had to be safe with her. Had to. Had to. Had to.

Carth shunted the worrying thoughts aside. Right now he had to worry about his own safety first, although if he found anything had happened to Dustil and Revan, there was no hole in the galaxy deep enough for whoever had hurt them to hide in.

His mind chewed on the question of how they'd found him as he moved. No trackers... that meant they had to keep them in their sights. His disguise was, admittedly, pretty distinctive, and it was possible they had a tap into the monitors scattered around the habitats, probably concentrated in the spaceports. That would seem to be something they'd be capable of, on par with the police deception they'd perpetuated so far. They didn't even need actual sentients to keep watch; a sufficiently sophisticated pattern-matching program would pick him out. He didn't think he rated being chased personally by a Dark Jedi, assuming there was one on Sluis Van.

So, his goal was to elude pursuit, then get to the hotel without being seen on the way.

_No problem._

It was time to change tactics. Carth hopped down onto the roof of an ascending repulsorlift platform with a thud that shocked and surprised its passengers, judging by their little screams and squeaks. He grabbed the bars that enclosed the platform wells and jumped down onto the other descending platform top. Carth made sure his weapons were strapped securely, swung onto a walkway at random, jumped up on the railing again, and swung down onto the other side of it, standing on tiptoes on the tiny ledge.

Instead of dropping down to another walk, Carth squatted, sliding his hands on the bars until they clung to the bottoms, and swung his legs to hook into the crooks of the support struts at the corners of the underside of the walk. Trying not to think about what he was doing so high up in the air, Carth let go of the bars so that he hung upside down by nothing but his knees. The durasteel dug into the backs of his knees uncomfortably, and he had a dizzying glimpse of the lights of Transients Dome when he looked down, reminding him unpleasantly of just how far up he was.

Swallowing, Carth reached up and grabbed the supports, and swung his legs out at the same time so that he hung by his arms, until he hooked his legs into the next set of struts, and repeated the nerve-wracking process, moving in from the edge to the middle. In this way he was hidden among the shadows on the underside of the walk. The lights from the walks below were not so strong that they could penetrate the dimness of his hiding place.

Since he'd been using the trick of dropping down from one walk to the one below, as his protesting ankles attested, this change in his movements should throw them into some confusion. He could drop down onto the walk below after a few moments, after assuring he had successfully eluded them, but he wanted to catch one of these guys. He doubted anyone out on grunt duty like this would know much, but Revan could maybe finesse something useful out of one with her mind tricks. He smirked at the thought that this was rather like a cat dragging the corpse of a pitiful bird home, proudly presenting a trophy of its kills. A kill wouldn't be nearly as useful, though.

They must've seen him duck down the walkway, because he'd seen heads peeking over the side, looking for him, and he was pretty sure they'd spotted him. Which meant they should be coming down the walkway below in pursuit in a few moments. They weren't repeating his shortcuts, for which he couldn't really blame them. Only walking into the Sith base on Taris through the front doors beat this trick for sheer gall and, well, insanity. And he didn't even have the safety of Revan's climbing harness for an excuse.

All the blood had rushed to his head by the time his pursuers had gotten to the walkway below him. In the clear lights lining the rails, Carth saw that they were indeed dressed in police uniform, which made the other pedestrians give them a wide berth--or it could've been the no-nonsense grips they had on their blaster rifles. They not only gave them space, but also began to clear the walk, looking for less exciting diversions elsewhere. _Good._ He didn't need helpful witnesses around trying to help these fake police out with their inquiries.

Taking out a blaster from a shoulder holster, Carth set it carefully to stun, and held it ready in both hands for the precision the extra stability would give him. He kept himself in the shadows so that the lights would not gleam on the metal.

The fake policemen were spread out, eyes darting all around to search for him. They were in a group of six, probably a merge of the three-man teams he'd seen earlier. They were also scattered a bit, and their attention was directed outwards, not inwards. Carth waited, watching as they almost reached the repulsorlift platform, where they split up again, one group commandeering a platform going down, while the other three stayed, waiting for another platform. He aimed carefully, taking extra precautions because he was shooting upside down, and fired.

The three fell, bodies landing with satisfying thuds when Carth got them all with three precise shots. The other pedestrians screamed and ran in the opposite directions, clearing an empty space around the fallen men. Carth reholstered his gun and reached up to grab the support struts, unhooked his legs, and dropped down, rolling when he hit the ground. He took a quick peek over the side to see if the other group had noticed, and ran over to the unconscious men, working out the kinks and slight stiffness in his legs from supporting his weight for so long. Looking them all over, he picked the one who looked the lightest; he had a limited amount of time in which to act, and he couldn't afford to be weighted down.

Quickly, he unbuttoned the man's tunic and undershirt, roughing it up, tousled the man's short-cropped brown-red hair as much as he could, then slung one limp arm over his shoulder, dragging him up. Pity he didn't have any liquor on him... Wait, what the hell was he thinking? This was a shopping district, which meant he could get practically anything with enough credits! And Revan had given him plenty. He lifted the man, who didn't feel as light as he looked, over his shoulder, and ran to the nearest floor of shops.

It was easy enough to buy a bottle of overpriced Savereen brandy, with Carth staggering in with an apparently drunk policeman on his arm and wildly waving bright credit chits in his other hand. Only the Force knew what the Twi'lek behind the counter thought of it all, as she handed him the bottle without packaging it after Carth gave her the order in a deliberately slurred voice.

As a whimsical afterthought, Carth bought an equally overpriced bouquet of nebula orchids from the same store, but he had that packaged in bright paper and a sturdy box, and stuck it in his pack. Revan would appreciate the irony and humor in receiving a gift of a knocked-out fake policeman and flowers. He needed something to make up for some of those words he'd said in anger, anyway, and flowers were traditional. The Twi'lek, however, probably thought he and the policeman were lovers. Carth's ears burned a bit at the thought. Ah, well, what was a little character assassination between hunter and prey, as long as it wasn't the other type?

Outside, Carth smashed open the neck of the bottle against the wall, then splashed some liberally all over the policeman before dabbing some a bit more carefully on his own jacket. Soon they were both reeking of the brandy, which was exactly what he'd intended. No one would look twice at a couple of drunken sots staggering all over the place.

Carth looked both ways as he stepped out of the tiny alley formed by one of the support pillars that met the face of the building, but didn't see the rest of the man's group. Yet. He pelted towards a speeder-cab landing, slinging the man's arm over his shoulders again. Carth had deliberately chosen this walkway because he'd seen one of the platforms, and now he ran faster towards it, spotting a speeder-cab angling down. It reached the landing just as he arrived.

"Sorry," Carth said apologetically as he pushed aside the Ithorian who'd been about to board the cab. "I need this more than you do."

The sounds of the Ithorian's cursing was muffled as Carth shoved the man inside and slammed the door closed. It was perhaps just as well he didn't know what the Ithorian was saying.

The Dug behind the controls looked at Carth's reflection in the rearview mirror, surprised but not alarmed. "Where to?" he asked warily, taking in Carth's appearance, eyes lingering on the hilt of the sword over Carth's shoulder. His huge nostrils pinched closed, smelling the brandy. "You pay extra if you puke on seats."

Carth rummaged in the pouch Revan had left in the mailbox, and came up with two one-hundred credit chits, one of which he flicked over the seat. The Dug caught it expertly in a hand, feet not moving from the controls, and whistled appreciatively at the amount.

"Out of here, _now_."

The credit chit disappeared into the recesses of the Dug's vest. "You got it."

Carth was thrown back in his seat as the Dug poured power into the repulsorlift coils, shooting them away from the landing in a tight circle that would've done a starfighter pilot proud. It was not so pleasing to Carth, who got pressed back, then to his right side, pushing him against the unconscious policeman, but he couldn't fault the speed with which it had been done.

"Where to now?" the Dug asked, arrowing the cab towards one of the many tubes leading to the other habitats.

Holding up the other hundred-credit chit where the Dug could see it, Carth said, "You got friends in the taxi service who want to make a few quick and easy credits?"

The Dug's eyes gleamed. "Yeah?"

Carth smiled. "If you do as I say, you get this,"--he waggled the chit--"plus another one, and your friends all get one."

Prominent teeth chewing on his lower lip, the Dug stared at Carth in the mirror, then avariciously at the chit in Carth's hand. "Depends on what you want."

"Nothing illegal," Carth assured him. "Here's what I want you to do..."

*** * ***

The last speeder-cab flew off, Carth waving at the gleeful Sullustan driver before turning off with his burden.

The first Dug driver had gathered a pack of his friends, and for two hundred credits each, a cab driver would wait at a predetermined location, arranged through the special communications band speeder-taxis used. Cabbies used strange jargon with a lot of acronyms to contact each other, and were unlikely to be understood even if they were overheard. At least, Carth didn't understand it, and he thought milspeak would've given him some experience.

With that setup, Carth was always moving, hopping into taxis across the habitats, being ferried in a different cab all the time. He'd taken the opportunity to scan the man in the Dug's cab, and had found a tracker in his wrist communicator, and another in his fake badge. Carth had flushed them both down into two different toilets in two different public refreshers near the parking lots he'd met the cabs on.

Now, finally, he stood on the rooftop parking lot of the hotel Revan had given him directions for, fake policeman still reeking of brandy on his shoulder, box of flowers in his other hand, and eagerness in his steps.

_Almost there._

Hauling the dead--but not really deceased--weight on his shoulder, Carth headed for the elevator, moving past the decorative plants, trees and bushes most rooftop parking lots had, as if to make up for the lack of plant life elsewhere. Lights were scattered around, throwing the trees into shadow and picking out gleaming highlights on the neat row of vehicles on landing pads.

Carth swung around, hearing a rustle in a bush behind him, but the unconscious man dragged at him, slowing him down. With a curse, Carth dropped the man and the flowers, hand going to the sword at his hip.

Inside, he was screaming in frustration and at his own stupidity and carelessness. He'd been so careful to shake pursuit to reach his destination, only to be set upon now that he was on the threshold. _How did they find me?_ Could it be he'd miscalculated after all? Only a Jedi could've tracked him through all the false trails he'd made.

It was a miscalculation that was going to cost him his life.

All Carth had time to do was draw out his sword two inches, then he froze.

The reason was as obvious as the two blaster muzzles that were aimed straight at his head at nearly point-blank range.

* * *

"I aten't dead." Alas, sorry for the delay, folks, again. Work's been absolutely insane, and I haven't had time to work on my fic as much as I would've liked. Because of this, I may, _may_ have to cut back updates to once every two weeks, instead of once a week.

Congratulations to schmoopy for posting the 400th review. :)

Kazic: Hey, thanks for the compliments. I was afraid people might be bored by the details of Carthguyver's antics. And yeah, I think at least half the reason he broke out was because of that Zabrak. :)

Lunatic Pandora1: You find out here. And hey, war hero, survived two wars, he's gotta have something up his sleeves, right?

Rascarin, rimwalker, Ceridan, Feza, Nyvanna, schmoopy, snackfiend101: Thanks. I dunno, security's pretty good if Carth has to resort to throwing himself out of high places to escape...

Kosiah: Ah, yes, the Mandalorian Wars. You'll see... And thanks.

Reitz: Er, but I stopped writing Revan's POV as early as Ch. 28... You only just now noticed? :) And no, no plans to write a KoTOR2fic. I haven't gotten it yet, and won't until the PC version is released. I have plans to do a collab KoTORfic with another writer, as yet to be unveiled. Unless I'm really inspired, I don't think I'll do a K2 fic.

VMorticia: You have permission to hug me as long as you have no transmittable diseases. ;) And yes, I am... and here's another cliffhanger! You don't have to trust me, I got it out of a book, written by a real doctor.

Prisoner 24601: Thanks, and thanks for beta reading! Yeah, I figure Carth shouldn't have it too easy... therefore, he shall be bitten by a giant Zabrak!

Menolly Onasi: Thanks, but the thumb-dislocating trick I lifted from the show The Pretender. And I envy you for having KotOR2. Please, guys, no spoilers.


	55. Clues

**Chapter 55: Clues**

Dustil followed a thread of music through the Telosian darkwood trees, their lustrous, dark ebony bark shining with gold tints where sunbeams lanced down through their branches. He walked through tall wild grass, through blue and lavender flowers, moving easily up the gentle slope of a hill. Sunlight shone down more brightly and frequently the closer he walked to the lake. Coinfish leapt up from the water to splash back down with bright gold and silver flashes. To the north, the Skyteeth Mountains were a white and gray haze on the horizon, so high they had snowcaps all year round. The hill he was climbing was a mere bump on the foothills of the Malab Peaks, mountains that were not nearly as ambitious as the Skyteeth, but still very tall.

The scents of freshly crushed grass, the perfumes of the flowers and the smell of the reeds by the lake made a heady aroma, and he sucked it into his lungs in huge, deep breaths. His boots crunched loudly on the thick grass as he moved towards the source of the music, sounding at times tantalizingly close, at other times far away, faint and nearly inaudible, on the very cusp of hearing.

The worn paths were marked by cryptic runes, or what Dustil guessed were runes. They looked like stylized Basic letters of an extremely old and ancient period, and showed him which fork to take at crosspaths. Now he recognized where he was; he was near his great-grandfather's lodge, where he'd spent his summers. His mother had taken him here every year, even after his great-grandfather had died. He hadn't seen this place in years... it only existed like this in his memory now.

It would've been spooky, except that the peace here would mellow even the most violent poltergeist, and his great-grandfather had been one of the gentlest souls he'd ever known. Which was odd, because his great-grandfather had been one of the most skilled demolitions experts in the Outer Rim. He had retired long ago, and had turned his skills to more peaceful work, such as making the lake and diverting a tributary of a nearby river to fill it. When Dustil had asked why, the old man had merely smiled and said, "For the fishing, boy, for the fishing."

There was a particularly bright flash of sunlight on the rippling water, then Dustil blinked, finding himself staring up at a bright ceiling, the tiles carved with faint impressions of leaves. The music he'd heard in his dream was coming from beside him. He turned his head to see Revan sitting in a chair.

Revan stopped playing immediately as soon as she saw--or sensed--that he was awake, and put her pipe back into her vest pocket. Dustil blinked at the vibroblade she had in her lap. Her braid was wound tightly around her neck again, as though she were prepared for a fight. Her other vibroblade had been strapped to her back rather than her hip--for easy access, he realized. She took out the white noise generator and turned it on.

"Dustil," Revan said, smiling with relief. Dustil wondered at the lines that disappeared from her face when she saw that he was awake. "How do you feel?"

Taking stock of himself, Dustil found all parts and limbs in good working order. There was no pain in his side, nor in his right arm when he carefully flexed it. Gingerly, he sat up, still not feeling any pain, but he did feel rather thirsty.

"I'm... I feel fine," Dustil said hesitantly, voice a little raspy. He rubbed at his stomach, and realized he was dressed in an unflattering gown that was rather drafty in the back, and... lower down. "Um..." he said intelligently, fingers twitching on the sheets and face warming, and resisted the urge to pull them up to his neck.

Looking confused at first, Revan's face cleared. "Ah," she said, eyes crinkling. "I imagine you're missing certain things." She leaned over to pull out a drawer from a table next to his bed, and brought out his clothes and blasters.

"Thanks," Dustil said gratefully, hands clutching at the bundle like a lifeline. Then he faced the dilemma of getting to the refresher without exposing his backside to her. From what he could feel, he was revealing quite a lot back there. His face warmed a bit more. "Uh..."

It was clear that she didn't need the Force to know he was embarrassed, and why. Her lips quirked, and she stood up, sword held casually in her hand. "I'll just step out for a moment, hey? I'll get us some caffa." Without waiting for his answer, she slipped out, silent as a stalking fell cat, taking the white noise shimmer with her.

Scratching his head, Dustil flipped the sheets back and swung his legs out of bed. He had to say this for the former Dark Lord: she was adept at spotting her cues. Testing his weight on the floor, Dustil found that he could support himself well enough. His bare right arm showed nothing to indicate it had been broken in several places. Flipping up the gown showed no bruises or anything on his belly or left side. Relieved, he headed into the refresher, clothes in hand.

Once he was cleaned and clothed, Dustil had the leisure to examine his surroundings as he sat on the bed to pull on his socks and boots. The ceiling and walls were painted in subtle shades of pleasant light green, the tiles carved with a motif of leaves. His bed was comfortable and large, taking up much of the space in the small room, and a discreet bank of monitors was inset in the wall above the headboard. On the opposite wall was a large holoprojector. There were two plush nerf-hide chairs and a table with a spray of aromatic flowers in a vase on it. Other than the monitors, there was nothing to show this was a hospital room of some sort, and not a small guestroom.

While he was strapping his blasters on, Revan arrived carrying a small tray with two mugs of caffa, two glasses, and a large pitcher of water. The white noise field arrived with her.

"Uh, what happened?" Dustil asked after drinking one whole glass of water to slake his thirst, and his tongue didn't feel as dry as Tatooine sand anymore. "Where are we?"

"We're still on the shipyard," Revan replied, sipping from her mug of caffa as she sat back down. "We're in Lady Versenne's personal sickbay room." She had not relinquished her grip on her sword, propping it back across her knees. Guarding him, he realized belatedly.

"How long was I out?" Dustil asked after a moment, digesting that fact as he took in her battle readiness.

"Several hours. It's the middle of the night right now." Revan's eyes met his, lowered to his stomach, then moved away. "They... they had to remove your spleen. It'd been ruptured. But that was the only complex surgery they needed to do. Your bones were knit back together in the kolto tank."

Dustil put his hand automatically on his stomach. He didn't feel any different, or less... crowded inside, with the removal of his spleen. There wasn't even a scar to show the surgical incisions they had to have made. He felt slightly disappointed about that, at having not even a scar to show what he'd been through.

"Oh," was all he could say at the moment.

He'd been in the tank for so long? Revan didn't look tired enough to have been awake all night. "You've sat here all this time?" Dustil asked disbelievingly.

"No... at least, I've only sat here since they brought you in. Otherwise, I've rested near the tank, in surgery... In any case, I haven't let you out of my sight," Revan replied. "There's a Jedi technique that lets me sleep while still being aware of my surroundings. Although I really wanted to murder a cup of caf right before you woke up," she added wistfully.

There was silence for a few moments, where Revan studiously stared into her mug, and took sips that looked like she was stalling for time rather than actually drinking.

"Did you help with...?" Dustil asked, unwilling to say it more clearly, despite the protective cover the white noise gave to their speech.

"A little. I put you into a healing trance," Revan confirmed. So she _had_ used the Force to help him heal faster. That explained the lack of even a twinge of pain.

"It wouldn't have been necessary, had you not moved just as I was trying to grab you," she continued, her tone oddly mild despite her words.

"I couldn't let Ver--Lady Versenne get killed if I could do something about it!" Dustil retorted hotly. She was supposed to be a Jedi, how could she even think that? Wasn't that what they were supposed to do? Save lives even at the cost of their own?

"What makes you think _I_ couldn't have done something about it?" Revan arched an eyebrow.

Dustil opened his mouth, then closed it. "Oh," he said finally, feeling a bit abashed and disappointed. He could've smacked himself in the head, only he wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of seeing that. Of _course_ she could've done it just as well as he, and probably without there being any injuries. In all the confusion, she could've used the Force to save them all, and no one would've noticed.

But then, he wouldn't have saved Lady Versenne himself, nor would he have gotten a kiss, however accidental. Nor would he have had his head on her lap. Being injured had definitely been worth it for that alone.

"Still, it was a very admirable and noble thing to do. You took no thought of your own safety to save the life of another. I think your father would be very proud of you, as soon as he finishes blistering your ears for risking yourself like that," Revan said, smiling. "_I'm_ very proud of you, too, for what it's worth, which is why I'm not blistering your ears right now."

Dustil managed a smirk. "My father's got no room to talk. And neither do you."

Revan nodded, flicking a finger to her chest in a fencer's touch. "Quite right. But I would say both of us have more experience at that sort of thing." Her eyes crinkled. "Well, I suppose the only thing we can do is train you until you can do it without receiving life-threatening injuries in the process."

Raising an eyebrow, Dustil glanced at her arm and leg, which were no longer bandaged. Her ripped shirt and trousers had been cleaned and mended, like his own clothes.

"What about Lady Versenne? Is she alright?" Dustil asked, a little anxious, but not very concerned, since he knew Lady Versenne's injuries had not been as extensive as his own.

"She's fine," Revan said, eyes dancing when she saw Dustil's relief. Dustil made a face at her, squirming a little in embarrassment. "She's been out of her own tank and up for a while. She looked in on you as soon as she came out, but you were still asleep."

Dustil was disappointed he'd missed her, but felt gratified she'd cared enough to do so.

Revan dipped a hand into a pocket on her vest, taking out a pair of dice. The tiny clicks of the small cubes sounded unnaturally loud in the small room. Dustil didn't think she was even aware she'd done it; it looked like an unconscious gesture done from habit.

"Where'd you get those?" Dustil asked curiously. He'd seen her play with them before, of course, when she was deep in thought about something. It was one of the few signs she showed of either nervousness or deep cogitation.

Looking down at her hand, as though surprised to find her dice there, Revan said, "Oh. Taris, actually." Her eyes unfocused as she stared into the past, perhaps at dark memories. "I won them off a man in the Lower City. I've carried them ever since."

She held up three fingers, with the two dice clamped in between them, showing ones on the faces visible to Dustil. Clenching her hand, she showed twos, and cycled through the faces without needing to look.

"Cute trick," Dustil said, raising an eyebrow. "Do you juggle, too?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," was the surprising answer to his facetious question. Revan proceeded to demonstrate by flipping her sword in the air and juggling it with the dice in one hand for a moment, before catching the dice in her other hand again.

"Is that a Jedi requirement?" Dustil asked dryly, amused despite himself.

"It is when you have to keep the peace between a Mandalorian warrior, a Republic soldier, a Twi'lek teenager, her Wookiee companion and three other Jedi on a small ship," Revan said cheerfully. "It's either laugh or cry, and only the Force knows if it's all the same to it."

"What, by making them laugh?" Dustil said in some disbelief. He tried to imagine the Dark Lord doing parlor tricks to amuse the crew, and couldn't quite manage it.

"The easiest way, certainly. I was the court--ship?--jester," Revan explained with a look of happy nostalgia on her face. "And the resident entertainer." At Dustil's look of amused skepticism, she said defensively, "Hey, long hyperspace voyages are boring, you know. There's only so much time that can be taken up with weapons practice and playing Pazaak. And I'm not so great a poet as to come up with anything better than dirty Mandalorian limericks to pass the time."

"Dirty Mandalorian limericks?" Dustil repeated, somewhat incredulously. He grinned, finding himself horribly curious. "I wanna hear some."

Revan grinned. "Ah, you should get your father to tell you. It's a lot funnier. Especially if I'm in the same room."

Dustil sobered immediately. His father was still out there, somewhere, with one, possibly two sets of pursuers out after him, depending on how he was going to leave his cover. Revan seemed to catch his mood, because her amused smile faded.

"Do you think they'll be after him, too?" Dustil asked quietly, though he was afraid he already knew what the answer was.

"You heard what that sergeant said," Revan said, hand tightening on her sword, dice rolling in her other hand. "They will be... and we can't do anything about it." Her hand tightened hard enough to turn her knuckles white. "We don't know when he'll decide to escape, or how, or by which route. And he's not due back for another few days." She threw the dice on the table, where they rolled. "Ah, well, he's survived this long, after two wars and the Star Forge. I'm sure he'll get through this, hey?" She sounded like she was trying to convince herself of that more than him.

They both fell silent, imagining all the things that could go wrong. Dustil bit his lip. What if his father's cover was broken somehow? Would Revan or he even know? Perhaps Carth would be captured, interrogated... tortured? _Killed?_ What if he escaped, only to be hunted down by the fake policemen?

It was odd; he hadn't worried for Carth this much when he'd gone off to war. He'd been too angry that his father had left them _again_. Then again, Dustil knew now what Carth faced with an an adult's awareness, and he'd faced the enemy for himself.

_Good luck, Father. Wherever you are._

A snap of Revan's fingers interrupted Dustil's darkening ruminations. A click beside him drew his attention to the dice, their faces previously showing ones, now showing twos. Another snap of her fingers, and the ivory cubes showed threes. She snapped her fingers faster and faster, the dice obediently flipping faces.

"How'd you do that?" Dustil hadn't felt her use the Force.

"You mean you don't know?" Revan smiled, insufferably smug. "Maybe these are trick dice. Or... maybe not."

Dustil glowered at her. "Can't you just answer the damned question? Or are you practicing your Jolee impression?"

"How about I let you figure it out for yourself?" Revan challenged, and scooped the dice up from the table. "These have traveled with me for months, through all sorts of dangers and travails. They helped me in my fight with Bastila." She offered them to Dustil. "They're yours, if you want. For luck."

"Luck? I thought Jedi don't believe in luck." Dustil raised his eyebrows. "'There is no luck, only the Force.'"

"Luck, the Force, whatever." Revan shrugged. "Keep it as a souvenir. Maybe next time the ceiling won't fall on you."

Hesitating at first, wondering what the catch was, Dustil held out his hand, and she dropped the dice into his palm. They were cool to the touch, feeling like any other pair of dice, perhaps a bit more worn than most, and wore their history lightly.

"How did they help you fight Bastila?" he asked as he examined them closely, not seeing where she could possibly put explosives into them. _That_ would be her style.

Revan's face turned solemn, with some unexpected shame lurking in her eyes. "It was... not one of my best moments. It was a trick she fell for, and I used the distraction." She sighed. "I also don't think I was quite in my right mind at the time. Ask Jolee to tell it to you, he was there. As was Juhani. Tell them I give them permission. It's not a story I can tell you... not yet."

Dustil raised his eyebrows again, but pocketed the dice. The expression on Revan's face didn't invite any further questions on the topic, which was odd in and of itself, because she was normally quite forthcoming with answers, even bluntly so.

His father had not told him much about Bastila, only that she was a powerful Jedi with the very rare gift of battle meditation, who had traveled with them during the search for the Star Forge. Although Carth had said some rather cryptic things about her the night he and Revan had been attacked on Coruscant. Things everyone else had understood except for Dustil.

Opening his mouth to try to wheedle some more details out of her, Dustil was interrupted when he heard muffled voices. They sounded like they were coming from the next room, and attracted both his and Revan's attention.

Revan held up a hand for quiet and stood, going over to the door to slide it aside a fraction. Feeling like he should be scolding her for doing something as rude as eavesdropping, but was too intensely curious about the voices himself to protest, Dustil stood behind her and craned his neck to see over her head. There was Lady Versenne and her father, Lord Vosaryk himself, who was pacing agitatedly.

Lady Versenne looked healthy, if a bit pale. Her white gown made her skin look even paler than it really was, with only the black ribbon tying her hair back for contrast. She sat with her hands clasped demurely in her lap, her wide, long sleeves covering them so that Dustil only saw her fingertips. She was watching her father pace with a bland, unreadable expression.

"Senni, what have you been up to?" Lord Vosaryk asked, a ferocious frown on his face, propping his fists on his hips. The heavy fabric of his richly embroidered robes swirled as he turned to face his daughter. "I heard from my aide that there has been yet _another_ attempt on your life! You haven't been consorting with those offworlders, have you? They're clever enough, but they are nothing but lowborn smugglers!"

_You don't know the half of it_, Dustil thought, half amused, half not. What would Lord Vosaryk think about a former Sith from a backwoods planet? He dreaded the answer to that. Perhaps a Jedi would be more palatable? _You're getting ahead of yourself._

"No, Da, I haven't," Lady Versenne said, looking quite calm in the face of her father's obvious displeasure. "I thought it would be honorable if I rewarded them for rescuing me myself."

Dustil's eyes met Revan's. So Lady Versenne was keeping their association a secret from her own father. Given what her father was trying to do, that was perhaps not so strange. The last thing Lord Vosaryk would want were nosy outsiders meddling in his affairs, especially if he nursed a grudge against House Khyrohn. Father and daughter obviously didn't trust each other, or at least, didn't confide completely in the other.

Lord Vosaryk stopped pacing, eyes sharp and intent as he scrutinized his daughter. After a moment, he nodded. "That is indeed an honorable gesture, Senni."

There was someone else there, Dustil noticed suddenly. The human man looked so ordinary, so forgettable, and he blended so well with his surroundings that Dustil had missed him completely. He wore Vosaryk uniform, the one for a personal retainer, like Bekim, but with a little more in the way of decoration, which meant he was Lord Vosaryk's aide. Dustil wondered why both Lady Versenne and Lord Vosaryk were talking so frankly in front of him. Bekim was nowhere in sight; of course, Bekim had been critically injured. Perhaps they had forgotten him, too.

Shaking his head, Lord Vosaryk said, "I'm worried, Senni. This is twice now that Khyrohn has moved against us--"

"Da, you don't know that!" Lady Versenne protested. "I have proof--"

"Proof! What proof could you have?" Lord Vosaryk scoffed, waving an arm. "No, this is their second attempt, I know it!"

Lady Versenne rose from her seat, looking as agitated as Lord Vosaryk had moments before, and took a datapad out of her wide sleeve. "No! No, Da, I have it right here!"

"Enough, Senni!" Lord Vosaryk didn't even glance at the pad before setting it down. Lady Versenne looked angry and stricken at this cavalier dismissal, two bright spots of color standing out on her cheeks. "Whatever this is, wherever you could have gotten this, matters not."

"Da, I know what you intend," Lady Versenne said in a quiet, deathly serious voice. "You intend to declare _kersai_ upon House Khyrohn at the Conclave, do you not?"

Lord Vosaryk froze, face stiffening into a mask, then whirled around. "_How did you know that?_" he hissed coldly.

Lady Versenne stood firm in the face of her father's anger. "Does it matter? All that _does_ matter is that you intend to bring ruin and death upon our House!"

"The only ruin and death will be brought upon House Khyrohn!" Lord Vosaryk said in that frosty voice. "This is not a matter to be discussed casually, Senni. Or to be discussed _at all_."

"Neither is _kersai_, Da." Lady Versenne pointed at the pad. "House Khyrohn is innocent of this! They are _not_ the ones who kidnapped me! Da, have you not considered the fact that another House may be manipulating both our House and House Khyrohn to our mutual destruction?"

"The only House that would stand to gain from this is House _Khyrohn_. They've been trying to seize our ship contracts and market share for years, and now they've started developing _starfighters_! It's clear they mean to compete with our interests." Lord Vosaryk waved his daughter's opinion away imperiously. "They have taken more aggressive steps, it seems, and I will _not_ suffer them to continue."

It didn't seem to Dustil that Lord Vosaryk intended to listen to his daughter at all. In fact, he seemed to have made up his mind already.

"Da, there may be more to this than there seems," Lady Versenne said, shaking her head. "Our own analysts say Lord Khyrohn is too cautious, and too new as Head, to jeopardize his position and House in these attempts--"

"Analysts can be wrong, Senni, you know that," Lord Vosaryk interrupted exasperatedly. "And this may all be a ploy by Khyrohn to divert suspicion. _I_ know better, and so should _you_."

"I _know_ Lord Khyrohn was not the one who did it, Da. It's all there, on that pad!" Lady Versenne picked the pad up and held it out again. "These are from Lord Khyrohn's very own personal logs!" She took a deep breath and said the next words quickly, "If you intend to bring the incident in front of the Conclave, I will bring this up on the floor. It will invalidate your claim. Please do not force me to humiliate our House like that, Da."

Lord Vosaryk's face went first red, then white, eyes narrowing to hard silver glints. "_You would dare to disgrace our House in that manner?_" he snarled. "If you try any such thing, Versenne," Lord Vosaryk said, rage turned icy cold, "I will have you shipped off to another sector. A very _remote_ sector. Naboo, perhaps. Hoth, if you keep this up. You can still administer House business from there."

Dustil winced, and so did Revan. That was pretty harsh. _If he does that, I can't see her again..._ Then he shook his head. _Get your priorities straight._

Lady Versenne paled. "Da, you wouldn't..." she whispered, looking appalled.

The lines on Lord Vosaryk's seamed face deepened. "I would. In fact, I _should_, for your own safety."

"Da, if they can send assassins onto the shipyard, they can send assassins after me anywhere. No matter how remote." Lady Versenne clenched her hands on her robes, then let go, anxiously smoothing out the wrinkles.

"Yes, I suppose you are right," Lord Vosaryk said judiciously, then his eyes hardened. "I am quite serious, Senni. Disobey me in this, and you will never see Sluis Van again. _Do not try me._"

Lady Versenne lifted her chin defiantly. "Da, has it occurred to you that I may not see Sluis Van again in any case if you do declare _kersai_?"

Brows drawing together, Lord Vosaryk grated out, "Senni, that will _not_ happen. Trust your father to know what he is doing." He knocked the pad out of Lady Versenne's hands. It hit the wall and bounced to fall on the floor, screen broken and flickering. "You say you have proof, but so do _I_."

Dustil sucked in a startled and shocked breath. Revan looked ill. Dustil couldn't help wondering just what that proof was, and how Lord Vosaryk had acquired it.

Staring at the broken pad in horrified dismay and shock, Lady Versenne said, "You have no intention of stopping your claim, do you? No matter what proof I show you," she breathed.

"Not when I have indisputable proof of Khyrohn's treachery, Senni." Lord Vosaryk folded his arms. "You cannot understand, young and inexperienced as you are. You were young when your mother died, but I know her ship _accident_"--he spat the word bitterly--"was no accident. No _accident_ at all."

"Da..." Lady Versenne began sadly.

"Enough, Senni. Khyrohn killed your mother, killed Bospho, and tried to kill _you_. No more. I am taking the fight to them." Lord Vosaryk's voice was colder than Hoth, looking at his daughter with great disfavor. "I see you are not hurt badly, not if you are arguing our enemy's case so... vociferously. I have matters to attend to." Dustil winced at that tone, and Lady Versenne seemed to deflate a little.

"Da--" Lady Versenne caught her father's sleeve. "Da, I beg you to reconsider. _Kersai_ could mean _our_ deaths, too. Mother would not approve, and she cannot be brought back by this, even if we survive and House Khyrohn is in ruins."

"I have made preparations for this day, Senni. You need not worry." Dustil noticed that Lord Vosaryk had completely ignored Lady Versenne's plea. Lord Vosaryk cupped his daughter's cheek. "I will protect you _and_ our House from any further Khyrohn depredations, Senni, do not fear." Briskly, he changed the subject, forcing a smile onto his thin lips. "Now, Senni, I need you to go to Bazaar's End in my place. House Vosaryk must be seen and represented."

Lady Versenne blinked, looking a little confused at the abrupt change in topic. "Bazaar's End? I? But, Da, _you_ always attend--"

"It is high time you went by yourself, Senni," Lord Vosaryk said airily. "You are old enough to attend without your father looking over your shoulder."

_And keeping potential boyfriends away, is that what he's saying?_ Dustil thought, feeling a little alarmed. Then he flushed in embarrassment at what he was thinking. _Ambitious, aren't you?_

Looking confused, Lady Versenne said, "But you have always attended with me, Da. Why are you not coming this year?"

"Oh, the usual post-Bazaar business and contracts, Senni," Lord Vosaryk said, shrugging. Dustil wasn't sure, but he thought he detected a hint of evasion in Lord Vosaryk's tone.

"But _I_ have already taken care of the post-Bazaar contracts..." Lady Versenne protested.

"Oh, you know how it is, there is always some last-minute thing that must be taken care of," Lord Vosaryk said, waving his arm. "I thought you might like to take a break, Senni. With all of these attempts on your life, you never go out to socialize anymore."

"Neither do you, Da," Lady Versenne said dryly, a look of fond exasperation warring with worry on her face.

"Yes, well, I am an old man, not a pretty girl who should put those dancing lessons I had arranged to good use," Lord Vosaryk said, smiling fondly.

_Dancing lessons?_ Dustil thought in some bewilderment. Of course she'd know how to dance, that was practically a mandatory requirement for all those fancy parties someone as rich and well connected as she would attend. Yeah. It occurred to him that _he_ didn't know how to dance. It had not, for some reason, been in the Sith Academy curriculum. Oh, Force, there were only two people he could ask, and _both_ choices were unpalatable for different reasons. Although the image of his father teaching dancing was rather amusing.

"It is high time you went out and enjoyed yourself, Senni," Lord Vosaryk was saying. "Why, your mother and I--" His voice trailed off, the nostalgia fading into his habitual dyspepsia again.

"But, Da, surely you can take an hour out to attend with me?" Lady Versenne said, looking panicked. "I have no one to escort me..."

"One armsman should be enough. And traditional, not to mention necessary, with all these attempts on your life, even with all the security that surrounds Bazaar's End." Lord Vosaryk waved her concerns away. "I really am too busy to go, Senni." He smiled, an expression that looked out of place on his thin, lined face. "So chin up, and put up a good show for our House, and do us proud." He looked stern. "You are _not_, however, to dispense with your armsman, Senni."

"No, Da, of course not. It... would have been Bospho..." Lady Versenne looked so stricken it twisted Dustil's heart.

"Yes, I am very sorry to hear about Bospho. He was a loyal man," Lord Vosaryk said, shaking his head. "I have provided for his family, of course, full pension and provisions and such."

"Thank you, Da," Lady Versenne murmured, voice shaking. "I have already done so, myself, provided out of my own funds."

"Good." Lord Vosaryk nodded approvingly. "It is our duty, Senni, to look after our own." He sighed. "I have to go now, child. Profit well, dawn to see, Senni."

"Profit well, Da. Dawn to see," Lady Versenne said faintly, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Not seeming to notice, Lord Vosaryk kissed his daughter's brow rather perfunctorily--_if_ I _kiss her, I'd put a bit more effort into it_, Dustil found himself thinking--and left in a swirl of elegant robes, his retainer following after at a respectful distance.

Lady Versenne picked the broken pad up, then glided silently out after them when a few moments had passed.

Revan closed the door and turned to Dustil. "Well. How interesting," she murmured.

"I guess all that work we did to find proof just went out the airlock," Dustil said, grimacing.

Sighing, Revan nodded agreement. "From Lord Vosaryk's behavior, I don't think he'd accept proof if the Force manifested itself in glowing blue letters saying 'Khyrohn's innocent', with letters of authentication from the Senate and the Jedi Council." She shook her head. "No, it's revenge, plain and simple, that he wants. I could feel the rage and bitterness coming off him. He... he feels like your father, when he talked about Saul Karath."

Dustil filed that remark away for later scrutiny. He'd known his father had been involved in the turncoat Admiral's death, but he didn't know the whole story. He resolved to ask Carth later.

"Would he really destroy both Houses to get it?" Dustil asked, shunting thoughts of his father away for later.

"What do you think?" Revan asked with an ironic quirk of her lips, turning the question back and raising her eyebrow.

Dustil looked away from those damnably penetrating eyes, a muscle jumping in his jaw when he clenched it tightly. There were layers to her question that extended beyond the immediate meaning, and he couldn't avoid thinking about them.

What was he prepared to risk for revenge? The answer brought its own disquieting thought.

"In any case," Revan said, her voice breaking into his thoughts, "you should go back to bed."

"I feel fine," Dustil said, unable to keep the surliness out of his tone. He did feel a bit tired, but he was damned if he was going to admit it to her.

Shaking her head, Revan made shooing motions at him. "You're still tired, Dustil. And you haven't finished healing quite yet."

Not having any way of denying it without sounding like a petulant child complaining about its bedtime, Dustil complied with ill grace, taking off his boots, blasters and jacket again. At least she didn't try to tuck him in, instead settling back into her seat and turning off the white noise generator. He supposed asking her to leave would be futile.

Without meaning to, Dustil fell asleep the moment his head hit the soft pillow.

*** * ***

"Rise and shine, Dustil."

The voice jarred Dustil out of a sound, dreamless sleep. He opened his eyes to see Revan smiling cheerfully at him. Dustil groaned and rubbed at his gritty eyes. "You're disgustingly chipper this morning," he grumbled irritably.

"Huh, how's that for gratitude for telling you that Lady Versenne's been waiting for us--" Revan began, but was interrupted by a chime at the door.

"Come in," Dustil called when the chime sounded again, throwing off the covers and getting up.

The door slid open and a Vosaryk guard leaned in, the same one who'd climbed down to help Dustil and Lady Versenne out of the crawlspace.

"Lady, sir," the guard said, nodding politely. "Good morning. My Lady sends her regards, and would like you both to join her at your earliest convenience. I am to guide you whenever you are ready." With that, he nodded again and leaned out, closing the door.

"Ready?" Revan tilted her head at Dustil, who was putting his boots on.

Dustil nodded and stood, hands strapping and checking the blasters at his hips automatically. Revan restrapped her swords at her hips and turned on her white noise generator.

"I hope she's got some food, wherever she is," Revan mumbled. "I'm all out of candy."

His stomach growled, informing him in no uncertain terms that mealtime had been delayed long enough, making his agreement abundantly clear. Embarrassingly so.

Revan grinned. "Give you some fur, and you could do a great impression of Zaalbar."

Doing his best to say it correctly, Dustil growled a phrase in Shyriiwook, one he'd heard Zaalbar grumble a lot when the Wookiee had trouble fixing the comsats back on Kashyyyk.

Revan burst out laughing. "Do you know what you just said?"

When Dustil shook his head, Revan translated and explained. It was quite in keeping with the Wookiee style, which meant that it was extremely earthy and scatological.

Dustil felt his cheeks heat. That would teach him not to use curses he didn't understand. "Does Father know Zaalbar uses that sort of language around Mission?" Although it did explain Mission's own very prodigious knowledge of vulgar expressions and curses.

"No, and I've never enlightened him, either. Seems better that way, all round." Revan palmed the door, shutting off the noise generator.

Following Revan through the door, Dustil looked around to see a familiar space. It was the medical bay where they had interrogated the sergeant. A small hiss made him turn around, just in time to see a cabinet and shelf of medicines slide aside, hiding the room he'd slept in. The subtle spices of the room they'd left puffed and faded into the astringent, sterile smell of the medical bay. This was the room Lady Versenne and Lord Vosaryk had been arguing in last night, but he'd been too distracted by their discussion to notice.

So he'd been recuperating in Lady Versenne's personal sickbay room. The realization made him blush inexplicably, and made him wonder where _she_ had been resting. He was glad he hadn't been in the same sickbay that had Bospho's body in the freezer.

The guard stood at the other door, the one that lead out into Lady Versenne's office. He coughed politely to catch their attention. "This way, please," he said, opening the door and bowing them through.

Revan and Dustil were ushered back into Lady Versenne's magnificent office. The view remained breathtakingly spectacular, with different ships moving about against the same backdrop of Sluis Van, the stars and the orbital stations. Dustil felt strange, as though yesterday's events had all been some sort of fever dream, and they were stepping into this place for the first time.

The condition of Lady Versenne's retainers shattered that illusion. Captain Morin and Bekim were both dancing attendance on Lady Versenne, just like they had yesterday, but both looked much the worse for wear. Bekim's skin was a doughy, pasty color, and sat in a repulsorlift chair. Captain Morin looked a little better, being able to stand, but he looked pale, too, and the lumpy bulge in his side wasn't entirely due to the weapons hidden in his tunic. The captain looked like he should be sitting in a repulsorlift chair, too, but was too stubborn and proud to do so. Dustil was unsurprised to see that there was a full complement of guards at the walls.

"Good morning, Captain, Stiller," Lady Versenne said with a smile, and rose from her desk. "I imagine you are both hungry. Come, I have had breakfast prepared." Her smile slipped a bit. "The view is not as excellent, but it is more secure."

"Not a problem. And thank you," Revan said, bowing. Dustil followed suit.

Captain Morin followed after them, limping a bit from the sound of his footsteps, while Bekim's chair hummed quietly.

Lady Versenne moved towards one of the viewscreens, one no different than any other that Dustil could see. It folded outwards when she touched her hand to it. Inside was a study of sorts, small but elegantly appointed, the walls lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves, filled with datacards. The air inside was pleasantly spicy, mixed with the smell of old nerf-hide leather. The carpet was thick and plush, and an Alderaanian moss painting, showing a view of the shipyard from space, held pride of place on the opposite wall. A smaller, but no less impressive, desk took up much of the space. Dustil's attention was riveted by the smells coming from a cart made of polished Telosian darkwood, carved with geometric designs. It was odd to find something so familiar from home here.

Bekim floated immediately to the cart and started assembling utensils and place settings with practiced ease, despite his debilitation. The cart extended panels so that it served as a table, complete with a white tablecloth. Captain Morin seated Lady Versenne, leaving Revan and Dustil to seat themselves on plush nerf-hide chairs.

While they were waiting, Dustil gathered up his courage to venture a question to Lady Versenne. "Uh, how are you feeling today?" That seemed to be a safe enough question, and he was proud that he hadn't stuttered or stammered.

Smiling, Lady Versenne replied, "I am feeling fine today, thank you. You seem to be fully recovered. A remarkably swift healing, given your injuries."

Now was not the time to mention Jedi healing. Or possibly ever. "I'm okay, thanks," Dustil said simply, accepting a cup of caffa from Bekim.

"Captain, sit," Lady Versenne commanded Captain Morin. "You really should be in the kolto tank, not here."

Obediently, the captain sat in one of the chairs pulled up to the cart, but shook his head. "It is my duty to be here, my Lady. I have already failed you once. I do not care to repeat the experience. Lord Vosaryk should have dismissed me for incompetence," he said in a low, subdued voice.

"No, I do not think even a Jedi could have forseen that," Lady Versenne demurred, shaking her head.

Dustil managed not to squirm uncomfortably. Revan continued to sip her tea. Damn that Jedi composure of hers. Under the cover of her cup, Revan winked at him. Dustil had to look down at his cup of caffa to keep from rolling his eyes.

"It was not your fault, Captain," Lady Versenne continued, not noticing the byplay. "What matters now is how we find the culprit who set that trap."

"I don't suppose analysis of the damage turned up anything?" Revan interjected.

Captain Morin shook his head. "No, but the damage may not have been limited to the observation deck, or to our injuries."

"How so?" Lady Versenne asked, a cup of caffa held motionless in her hand.

"Remember that sergeant these two here captured? Well, he's dead," Captain Morin said grimly.

"How did that happen? He was under guard." Lady Versenne's eyebrows crimped in a frown.

Captain Morin's face grew hard. "The attack on the observation deck was not only an assassination attempt, it seems, but also a distraction. Camera logs show the monitors in that section were disabled for a few critical moments. The guards were stunned, and the lock sliced open. The sergeant died of a blaster bolt to the head."

"The guards who were on duty, are they all right?" Lady Versenne asked in concern. "Were they--"

"No, they're fine, my Lady," Captain Morin assured her.

"What happened to them?" Revan asked. "Did they see...?"

Captain Morin shook his head, lips thin. "No. That would have been too much to hope for. The guards were knocked unconscious by a concussion grenade."

Revan sat back, disappointed. "You believe your guards?" She shrugged when Lady Versenne frowned disapproval at her.

"Confirmed under truth serum," Captain Morin said dryly. "In this case, however, knowing the truth was not very helpful."

"Wasn't there a medical droid in the room?" Dustil interjected, doing his best to remember. "Did it see?"

"Aye, we checked, but it had been taken out with an ion blaster," Captain Morin said. "Now it's being repaired, since it'll need a new neural cortex. Our medical records for the sergeant are still safe, but now quite useless."

"Did Station Security not follow up?" Lady Versenne's frown deepened.

"Aye, but by the time they arrived, the deed had already been done." Captain Morin shook his head. "They got clean away. Sensor techs have turned up nothing. And as if to tweak our noses, they turned the cameras back on. I estimate the entire thing, from start to finish, took perhaps five minutes. Plenty of time for them to escape."

"Wait, why wasn't he in the brig? How did whoever it was get in past security?" Revan said, frowning.

"No, he wasn't. He was still sleeping off the effects of the drug, and I had wanted to question him further, so I hadn't moved him yet," Captain Morin replied with a grimace. "I also wanted to keep things under a lid. The less people who knew about this, the better, I thought."

"How did they know he was here, anyway? Only the patrol leader and the guards who took us in knew," Dustil said, perplexed. He was really not liking how this person seemed to be one step ahead of them all the time.

"A tracker?" Revan suggested.

"Aye. It was implanted in his skull; we found it in an autopsy. We're working on finding the tracker signal's receiver, but I doubt we'll find anything." Captain Morin rubbed his face. "All of our leads seem to turn into dead ends... rather literally, in this case."

Looking at the tired, haggard man, Dustil found himself sympathizing with the perennially suspicious captain. He didn't look like he'd been sleeping well, if at all.

"How long have you been awake, Captain?" Revan said softly.

Lady Versenne frowned. "Too long."

Simultaneously giving Lady Versenne a tired smile and a glare for Revan, Captain Morin shook his head. "I'm actually old enough to know better than to overtire myself, thank you. I will take some rest once these various investigations are started. Granted, they all seem to be dead in space."

"I do think that traitor theory of yours just got bumped up to a certainty, though," Revan remarked. "It sounds like they're not only accomplished slicers, they're extremely familiar with your systems and routine."

"Aye. It certainly looks that way." Captain Morin didn't sound or look very happy about it.

At least the captain wasn't counterproductively suspicious of them anymore, Dustil thought as he chewed on a bread roll as delicately as he could without seeming to wolf it down. He was relieved this wasn't a formal breakfast, with more utensils than dishes.

"Just how did they manage to bring the ceiling down on us, anyway?" Revan asked after a moment.

"Chemical bombs. Carefully timed mechanisms that have been eating away at the metals and supports. Once they had reached a certain point, they stopped, and just a small explosion would have set the whole thing toppling," Captain Morin explained. "And it did. And virtually undetectable by all sensors, since there was not a large enough energy source to give it away."

"But wouldn't that have taken a long time?" Dustil asked, too intrigued to stammer.

"It would have, indeed," Captain Morin agreed. "Analysis estimates about a month. Which, incidentally, is how long Lady Versenne has been in charge of the shipyard."

"Who knows that?" Dustil asked before Revan could.

"Everyone, Stiller. Everyone." Lady Versenne's smile was tight.

"I hope we can narrow that down a bit, Lady," Revan remarked.

"Aye. With every failed attempt we move closer to finding the suspect. I only hope we survive the event," Captain Morin said morosely. "Not quite the way I would choose to find more clues. The logs show nothing from the camera records from about a month back. They may have been tampered with. It's taking nearly all of the resources in Analysis to check them all. It's a good thing we've got some Verpines in our employ, since they're experts at spotting tampered data."

"Okay," Revan said, putting down her fork and ticking items off on her fingers. "So we have someone who's accomplished at slicing into your records without being detected, skilled enough at sabotage to bring down the ceiling, trap Bospho in the power room with an exploding power conduit, and trusted enough by Bospho to get close to him. And possibly connected to that sergeant we captured. And ruthless enough to cover his tracks by killing him, not to mention quite audacious. Have I missed anything?"

"And I guess that's how they knew to use the tracker in the shipyard token we have. That should narrow things down a bit, shouldn't it?" Dustil commented. "How many people on this shipyard can do all that stuff?"

"Ah, hm," Lady Versenne murmured. "I am not sure if you are aware, but we do hire a great deal of retired Republic soldiers and military personnel."

Dustil blinked, confused. What did that have to do with anything?

"You think some of these ex-soldiers have such hidden talents?" Revan said skeptically. "But would Bospho have let any of the yard's employees get so close to him, much less have gone into the power room to meet with them?"

"The lady has a point there," Captain Morin agreed. "Bospho trusted very few, and all of those have been with the House their entire lives, not simply hired. In any case, they're all accounted for, and they were nowhere near the shipyard in that time frame. None of them have the sort of expertise this incident called for, in any case. The only ones who have skills even remotely approaching those you listed are Lord Vosaryk's top aides and bodyguards, and none of _them_ have _all_ of the capabilities needed."

"That you know of, anyway," Revan said dubiously. "How do you _know_?"

Captain Morin raised a hand, palm up. "I know because their records show it. Remember, they have been with the House all their lives, and in all the cases of the ones on station at the time, their families have served House Vosaryk for centuries."

"Records can be altered. Or could just be plain _in_accurate." Revan raised an eyebrow.

"No." Lady Versenne shook her head. "In any case, Da's aides and guards have no reason to harm me. We are looking in the wrong place."

Tugging at her braid, Revan shrugged. "I suppose you'd have to find out who Bospho was talking to. Don't you have a list of his agents? One of them could be your hypothesized ex-soldier employee turned traitor."

"Of course. Unfortunately, they're all under code names," Captain Morin said, hands held up helplessly. "I doubt Bospho foresaw his own death, otherwise he would have passed them onto his successor."

"I don't suppose there are any decryption codes or such?" Revan said, sighing when the captain shook his head. "He played his hand close to his chest," she grumbled. "Have you thought about bringing in the police?"

"Out of the question. This is strictly an internal House matter," Lady Versenne said firmly.

Dustil resisted the urge to shake his head. Here Lord Vosaryk was going to call _kersai_ on House Khyrohn, and there was a possible traitor in their own ranks, but they wouldn't involve the police out of some sort of misplaced family pride.

Revan didn't look surprised at the answer. "Is Lord Vosaryk conducting an investigation of his own into this?"

"Da believes he already knows who did it," Lady Versenne said in a defeated, subdued voice. "Therefore, no investigation is necessary."

"Ah... who does he believe did it?" Revan asked, though Dustil knew full well she already had the answer to that. They couldn't reveal their knowledge, of course.

"House Khyrohn," Captain Morin answered heavily.

"I see. Could this be some sort of retaliation or preemptive strike on Khyrohn's part?" Revan said, after a few moments of silence. Lady Versenne and her retainers looked worried and distressed.

"It's possible, but a House Khyrohn spy or agent couldn't have been able to get close to Bospho, either," Captain Morin pointed out. "A Khyrohn agent would have to have been in place for over five years. While we just have code names, we know the agents Bospho used have been here for much longer than that."

"I do not believe he knows who did it. I do not believe Lord Khyrohn would do such a thing, in any case. Not in retaliation to his files being stolen," Lady Versenne put in.

"Maybe not to that, but... perhaps to something else?" Revan suggested delicately.

"Perhaps if Lord Khyrohn were older, more experienced and settled into his position," Lady Versenne said, clasping her hands in front of her. "Even if he were, this would not be in his style. The destruction of property is especially telling. No House would willingly condone such expensive ruin, especially not the Head."

Raising her eyebrow skeptically, Revan said, "What _would_ be his style?"

"He would seek whoever had done him damage personally and try to hire them for his House," Captain Morin said, consulting a datapad.

"And what if they refuse?" Dustil asked. "He kills them?" That would be in keeping with the Sith way, sort of, only there would be no initial offer to switch sides. Unless they could be of use.

"No, he simply deports them, taking a full record of their identities," Captain Morin said. "An honorable man," he added grudgingly. "Most Houses are more... ruthless."

"I never did ask you what you'd done with those men who'd kidnapped you, Lady," Revan said.

Lady Versenne smiled tightly. "They were not killed, if that is what you are asking. They were turned over to the police, and have been deported to a penal colony. Kessel, I believe."

Dustil had wondered about that, too. In a way, he was relieved to hear it. Given all of the activity on Sluis Van, he'd half expected them to have killed them, and they'd probably be well within their rights to do so. _That's the Sith talking_, he scolded himself. Then he wondered if the Sith in him wouldn't serve them better here.

_Sith don't serve, stupid._ It was the frustration talking. And--_admit it_--the fear. All they were doing so far was reacting.

"Back to Lord Khyrohn... Perhaps he changed his mind? Or maybe he's trying to throw your analysts off by making an out-of-character move," Revan said.

"All things are possible, of course, and I do have people working on that end," Captain Morin said blandly. "I doubt you'll be able to get into House Khyrohn again to make sure."

"It's probably an impenetrable fortress now," Dustil said warily, wondering if the captain was suggesting what he _thought_ he was suggesting.

"Impossible to infiltrate again," Lady Versenne agreed, then turned to Captain Morin. "Tell them what you found yesterday, before we were interrupted by that rather unfortunate... incident."

Tapping on his datapad, Captain Morin said, "According to ME-12's tests, there was a microscopic amount of an unknown substance on Bospho's right hand, so small it nearly didn't make an adequate enough test sample. There was just enough, however, and determined to be a potent poison of some sort." Captain Morin's brow wrinkled. "It's the 'unknown substance' part that disturbs me. Our analyzers are capable of recognizing thousands of poisons, but it cannot recognize this one."

Dustil and Revan shared a brief look.

"ME-12's tests say it is metabolized extremely quickly, leaving little to no evidence, save for the very little in the point of contact. Anything not metabolized resembles metabolites from common painkillers," Captain Morin continued, face grim. "Few poisons in the galaxy can do _that_. A perfect assassin's tool."

"Perhaps we might leave this part for _after_ we finish our breakfast," Revan murmured.

Captain Morin blinked at her, then took in Lady Versenne's and Bekim's pale faces. "Your pardon, my Lady."

"We can discuss this out in Lady Versenne's office, right? I did want to talk to you about letting us look at the power room," Revan continued persuasively.

Lady Versenne shook her head. "We are done here, yes?" She rose, prompting everyone else to rise also.

Dustil blinked down at the crumbs on his plate. He couldn't remember eating, as absorbed as he'd been with the discussion, but his stomach was now pleasantly full and wasn't growling anymore. He hastily finished his cup of caffa and stood, following Revan out into Lady Versenne's office.

"Captain, I don't suppose you'll show me your reports," Revan said, when they had reached the desk that sat in solitary splendor in the large room. She gestured invitingly at a cluster of chairs around a holoprojector.

"By all means, fill Captain Kera'al in on what has been happening," Lady Versenne said gravely, standing by her desk. "We owed her and her companions much before. Now we all owe her,"--she nodded at Dustil--"and Stiller even more. Whether we all like it or not, these offworlders are now deeply involved in Vosaryk affairs. We owe them protection--and knowledge, which may be even more precious and valuable."

Though there was still cautious hesitation on his face, Captain Morin bowed. "Aye, my Lady."

"I was wondering if I could borrow Bekim, too," Revan said. "It occurs to me that chemical bombs exhibit certain traits that can sometimes show their origin. Since Bekim was also there, I'd like to ask him what he saw."

Looking startled but curious, Bekim said, "I would of course be honored and glad to help, but I already told all that I saw to Captain Morin."

"There's something to having an outsider ask," Captain Morin said thoughtfully. "It can't hurt, I suppose."

"Then with your permission, my Lady," Bekim said to Lady Versenne, who waved her hand at Revan.

_Never say I don't do you any favors_, murmured Revan's voice in Dustil's head as she walked off towards the holoprojector with both retainers.

Then Dustil was left alone with Lady Versenne. Or as much as they could be, with so many guards standing at the walls, and Revan in a huddle with the two retainers out of earshot but not that far away. It was too bad they couldn't have stayed in the study, a more intimate and, above all, guardless space.

Awkwardly, Dustil moved a little closer to Lady Versenne, mindful of itchy trigger fingers, and broke the silence they stood in by asking, "So, uh, how have you been?" That was a safe enough subject, right? No mention of an accidental kiss anywhere. More's the pity.

"Fine now, thank you." Lady Versenne smiled naturally for the first time since they'd arrived in her office. Dustil felt his face stretch with a grin in response. "And you, Stiller? You were injured more gravely than I."

_Nothing a little kolto and Jedi healing couldn't fix._ "Just fine, thanks," Dustil said instead.

"I'm glad," Lady Versenne said with another of those smiles warming his heart, but then it faded all too quickly into worry.

"Is something wrong?" Dustil asked, then nearly smacked himself in the head. Assassins trying to kill or capture her, her father signing her death warrant, her bodyguard dead, and an unknown traitor was running around, possibly on this very shipyard, and he had to ask what was wrong? _You idiot!_

Giving him a brave but wan smile, Lady Versenne said very quietly, "Ah... things could perhaps be better."

Lady Versenne moved across to the back of the office to the viewscreens still showing a view of space. After a second of hesitation, Dustil followed her. If he didn't turn his head, it gave him the illusion that he stood on top of the world, with the entire universe before him, alone but for the pretty woman at his side. No wonder the Heads of House Vosaryk had built this office...

Staring out at space, but not looking like she was seeing anything in the present, Lady Versenne murmured, "I am deeply afraid for my House, Stiller. It... frightens me to know that even this bastion of safety can be so easily penetrated... and perhaps destroyed."

Dustil bit his tongue on _I'll protect you_. Who was he kidding? He hadn't even been able to save her from getting hurt, although he'd managed to save her from getting killed. He was just an ex-Sith with a few years of training; he didn't even know what utensils to use properly at a formal dinner. He tried desperately to find something reassuring to say.

"Uh... we're, we're working on it," Dustil said cautiously. "I'm sure we can get to the bottom of this soon."

"Yesterday it was Bospho who died. How many more must die to protect me?" Lady Versenne said softly, as though talking to herself.

Feeling completely useless, Dustil didn't quite know how to respond.

"Perhaps it will be Bekim next. He nearly died yesterday. His legs had been severed neatly, right across his thighs," Lady Versenne continued, sounding almost dreamy. "Perhaps Captain Morin..." She looked up at him, and the look of despair in her silver eyes froze his blood. "Or will it be you, Stiller?"

Dustil pasted a cocky grin on his face, the one he'd worn at the Sith Academy when he faced down the other students, as though they'd been kath hounds fighting for pack dominance. It felt horribly false and unnatural. "I'm not that easy to kill," he said, trying to sound confident.

"You are clever." Lady Versenne's face cleared, to his relief. "But cleverness and luck will only take you so far, Stiller. I am deeply afraid I may have made a mistake in hiring you and your captain."

_She's not _my_ captain._ Disappointment and dismay shook Dustil. "Why?" he asked, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice, and not certain he had succeeded.

"You may be offworlders, but it is becoming clear that that will not protect you from the attentions of this... agent. You may even be more at risk. Are you sure you wish to continue? If the situation was dangerous before, it has become doubly more so now," Lady Versenne said earnestly.

"It's not because you don't"--_like me_--"think we've been doing a good job?" Dustil asked, bracing for the answer.

Lady Versenne shook her head vigorously, strands of her platinum blonde hair falling into her face. Dustil checked the impulse to brush them away; the guards would likely shoot him first and ask questions later.

"No, it is not that at all. I fear for your safety, and your captain's, and the life of your colleague who is now undercover. As I do for all of my retainers and employees." Lady Versenne turned back to contemplate the silver lacework of ships moving in orbit. "A murderous traitor may be walking among them even now, bearing evil thoughts in his heart behind an innocent, trusted face. I hold the loyalty and allegiance of my people, through their oaths... there is no such binding on you. You are free to leave my service at any time, with full compensation."

"We took a contract from you. That's binding enough for me," Dustil said staunchly. He was pretty sure Revan would agree. And his father, for all his protests about risking their safety, would, too. _A Jedi does what's needed._ He would help even if Carth and Revan _didn't_ agree. _But is it because of the righteousness of your cause, or because you like her?_ asked a voice in the back of his head. And it _wasn't_ Revan. He shunted it aside.

Lady Versenne shook her head, but she smiled, her worried expression dispelling for a moment. "I never expected smugglers to be so bound by honor, Stiller."

_Maybe because we're not really smugglers._ "Smugglers? Us?" Dustil said, all artful innocence. No one had ever come right out and said they were smugglers, after all. Well, except for Lord Vosaryk.

Snorting delicately through her nose, Lady Versenne gave him a dry look. "I had a background check done on you and your companions, of course, before I ever appraoched you with my proposition."

Not quite the proposition _he_ wanted or had in mind. She had obviously found the records Revan had wanted her to find. As long as she didn't find the stuff underneath... "'Smuggler' is a word with such a, um, unsavory connotation," Dustil intoned solemnly, doing his best to sound like Revan at her most dry and ironic.

"And what would you prefer I called you?" Lady Versenne asked with an odd half-smile on her face.

_How about handsome?_ Dustil cleared his throat, feeling the betraying flush in his cheeks. For a moment, he envied Carth his artificially swarthy complexion, which didn't show blushes nearly as well as his skin. There wasn't much sun on Korriban; there was always a perpetual foggy overcast. Not much opportunity to get a tan in an underground Academy.

"Um, merchandise movers? Cargo carriers? Freighter bums?" Dustil suggested.

"Opportunistic thieves?" Lady Versenne offered, her smile widening.

"You wound me," Dustil said mournfully, placing a hand on his chest. He took the smile as a good sign. "'Thieves'?"

"There is nothing wrong with thieves... provided they only steal important documents for me," Lady Versenne said, her smile fading into a look of defeat. "Although it seems all of our efforts have been for naught."

Since he could hardly reveal that he and Revan had eavesdropped on that conversation, Dustil continued to sound sympathetic and curious. "What's wrong? Did we give you the wrong stuff?"

"No, no," Lady Versenne assured him. "All correct and yet quite, quite useless. Da intends to lay a charge of _kersai_ upon House Khyrohn, regardless of the proof you found."

"Oh." Not a surprise, of course, but he could hardly tell her that. "Then... are you still going to stop him?"

Lady Versenne rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I do not know. I already know he will not listen or heed me. I may... I may have to bring this to the Conclave, and hope they will deny his claim." Dustil noticed she didn't mention she would be effectively banished if she did that.

"Oh," Dustil said again. There didn't seem to be much to say about that. "I'm sorry," he added, wishing he had something better to offer. Some words of encouragement, or reassurance. "Uh... I don't suppose you could fight him on that?" _Knowing you'll be banished to some back of beyond world for your trouble?_ he did not say.

"I do not know. I have never seen him so... focused. Not even when he was conducting difficult negotiations." Lady Versenne closed her eyes and sighed. "Da can be very single-minded, but he has never missed a Bazaar's End."

"Bazaar's End?"

"It celebrates the end of the Bazaar," Lady Versenne explained. "It is a sort of reception and party, with dancing and such. It also marks the date of the next Conclave of Houses. All the Heads--or their designated proxies--will attend."

It sounded boring, not to his tastes at all. Although if Lady Versenne was going to attend...

"It is not like Da to miss it. He does not miss it, ever, not even the year my mother died," Lady Versenne continued, frowning.

"Maybe he thinks you're ready to go solo?" Dustil suggested.

"But he comes with me every year. But... but perhaps you are right." Lady Versenne shook her head, brushing her fingers through her hair.

Gathering up his courage, Dustil opened his mouth to ask if, ah, offworlder smuggler types could escort people to Bazaar's End, when he felt a light brush against his mind, the Jedi equivalent of a discreet cough. Revan was letting him know the group was about to return. He turned to see Revan and Bekim approaching, Captain Morin staying behind at the holoprojector, furiously tapping on his pad.

Lady Versenne turned, her smile fading back into her solemn ready-for-business expression, to Dustil's disappointment. Dammit, did Revan have to interrupt them right at that moment? He aimed his frustration at Revan and hoped she felt it.

_Sorry. Wasn't my idea. You ought to be grateful I stalled them for so long_, Revan murmured in his head.

"My Lady, I am sorry to interrupt," Bekim said apologetically, maneuvering his chair next to Lady Versenne, "but today's appointments..." He handed her a datapad.

"Oh," Lady Versenne said, a tiny hint of exasperation in her voice. Her eyes widened as she read it. "The Captains' Dinner is tomorrow night? But Da has always been the one who hosts it every season!"

"My Lord says he has urgent appointments at that time, and cannot attend," Bekim said, shrugging.

"Too urgent to greet our own captains?" Lady Versenne said incredulously.

"What's a captain's dinner?" Revan asked.

"Our convoy of cargo ships make trips every quarter, and we always hold a special dinner for them to celebrate their safe return and another profitable journey," Lady Versenne explained. "We strengthen our relationships and swap news of Sluis Van for their news of the worlds they've visited." She frowned. "Da has always attended each and every one."

"I, uh, I guess we shouldn't keep you, then," Dustil said reluctantly.

"I am sorry I cannot entertain you more properly," Lady Versenne said apologetically. It was probably Dustil's imagination that she looked as disappointed as he felt.

"It's alright, you must have a lot of paperwork to get back to," Revan said sympathetically. "Ah, there's something I was wondering if you could help us with..."

"Whatever is within my power to give, you may have," Lady Versenne said in formal tones.

"Ah, nothing too extravagent. I was wondering if I might borrow one of your personal shuttles. It would make it much easier to get here from downside, without attracting attention from both your employees and those sentients chasing us. Er, preferably one without Vosaryk markings, looks ordinary," Revan said.

Nodding, Lady Versenne turned to Bekim, who bowed as best he could before tapping into a pad. "Give them access to my personal landing pad, Bekim."

Bekim handed Revan a datapad. "Instructions, directions and access codes are all there, Captain."

Revan coughed. "I hate to imply anything, but... something without trackers."

"No trackers," Bekim said, looking faintly offended. "Although I do understand your concern."

Dustil knew Revan was going to check for herself regardless, but she just said, "Thanks."

"Do let me know if you discover anything new, Captain," Lady Versenne said.

It was a clear dismissal. "Of course, Lady," Revan said, and bowed. Dustil bowed and turned, but not before Lady Versenne gave him a smile. He gave her a grin in response, feeling lightheaded as he straightened back up.

Captain Morin was waiting for them. "Do you still want to see the power room?" he asked politely as he conducted them out of Lady Versenne's office.

"Yes, although I suppose you've already scanned everything," Revan said.

"Aye, but you might be interested in seeing the holo reenactments the analysts have constructed from extrapolations of the data."

Dustil twitched when two guards fell in behind them. So the captain was being more courteous today, but no less suspicious. "You still don't trust us enough yet to leave off with the guards?" he muttered peevishly.

"There is a killer possibly still wandering around the yard," Captain Morin said dryly, raising an eyebrow. "They're for your protection as well as mine."

"Oh." Dustil thought they could handle themselves just fine, but then one had to consider what had happened to Bospho...

"We've created scenarios in which Bospho had gone in alone, and they've spent the night working with the new data," Captain Morin continued.

"Why haven't you restricted traffic to the station?" Revan asked, following the captain into the elevator, guards bracketing them all.

"We have," Captain Morin said. "Only Vosaryk shuttles may land since the assault on Lady Versenne a few days ago. Normally we permit all private shuttles and ships to dock, but now it is no longer allowed."

"So... this killer had to have been on one of those shuttles, then," Revan mused.

"Aye. But this is not as easy as it looks." Captain Morin sighed. "Not that it ever is. Do you know how many shuttles the yard has, not to mention how many sentients board and disembark, and how many trips each shuttle makes in a given day?"

"I don't envy you," Revan said sympathetically.

Small wonder the man looked like he hadn't slept much and took stims instead of meals. Dustil idly looked out at space through the huge transparisteel gallery windows. Tractor beams expertly snagged ships and maneuvered them to slips, the larger and more ungainly ones being chivvied by tugships. Lights blinked on and off from landing lights like fallen stars.

The corridors went gradually from understated opulence to utilitarian, wood paneling growing sparser until the walls were painted gun-metal gray durasteel. Their footsteps rang hollowly on the uncarpeted metal floor, the smell of electronics ozone filling the air. They approached a large set of doors painted with black and yellow stripes, plastered with caution and warning signs. The hum and vibrations of powerful machinery reverberated up his bones through his bootsoles.

"The cameras show Bospho entering, but no one else. I suspect those records of being tampered with," Captain Morin said. "Inside, of course, there are no cameras."

Two guards and two war droids stood by the doors. One solemnly took identity scans of Captain Morin and his guards, the other taking a holo of Revan and Dustil for their records.

Instead of leading them inside, Captain Morin went into another set of doors set across from the power room. Here the space had been hastily cleared of containers and supplies, all of them stacked haphazardly at the corners. A console, hastily juryrigged, wires and cables exposed, sat in the corner near the doors.

"We've set this up as the holo representation," Captain Morin said, tapping keys on the computer.

A huge holo bloomed, overlaid on top of the room. Huge power generators towered over them, reaching up to the high ceiling. Dustil saw that the power conduit near one of them was blackened and broken, the housing broken open with jagged edges. Pieces of plasteel lay near it and as far as the other side of the room. Holocameras hung motionless in the air.

"This is a real-time holo being generated of the power room as it is now. Holocameras in there can be manipulated from here for magnification and such." Captain Morin demonstrated, showing the console display to them, where a picture showed the view of the conduit being enlarged, and the holo showed one of the cameras moving from its stationary orbit to the conduit at the same time. "This way, the actual crime scene cannot be tampered with or contaminated, and you won't be allowed in, anyway. This is a one hundred percent accurate representation, in any case. We have the scenarios loaded here, so feel free to run them."

"Thanks," Revan said absently, already distracted by the holo.

Stifling a yawn, Captain Morin added as he walked to the doors, "If there's anything you need, or have questions, the console's set up to send me messages."

Revan walked around the holo, moving around the rather realistic holo of Bospho's body, while Dustil fiddled with the console. Blood spatters, now dried brown, were on the floor and wall. Text scrolled across the screen, showing the hypothesized reasons for them, helpful but macabre.

Currently, the holo showed the scene as it had been when Bospho's body had been discovered. The corpse lay on its back, shrapnel buried into places on it. Dustil grimaced at the huge piece of metal stuck in Bospho's face like a cleaver, and was glad the very realistic holo didn't give olfactory details as well.

Walking to the door, Revan paced back to where the body was, eyeing the bloodstains. Oddly, there wasn't much, as Dustil would expect of such grievous injuries. According to the helpfiles, this was perhaps due to the quick clotting of blood in a body soon after death, and the heat of the metal cauterizing the wounds and vaporizing the blood. Revan walked over to the console.

"Run through the scenarios the captain said they had," Revan said, turning on the white noise generator.

A press of a button called up a short list. Dustil selected the one marked 'Bospho1 - alone'.

The corpse and blood spatters disappeared, and the power conduit appeared whole. Bospho, looking disconcertingly alive and well, stepped through the holo doors, hand at his side, presumably near a weapon. He prowled cautiously around, eyes darting in every direction as he checked for danger. A look of annoyance and puzzlement crossed his craggy features. Dustil was impressed at the level of detail the analysts had put into the holo.

As the holo Bospho passed by the power conduit, it exploded, making Dustil jump in startlement, the sudden flash blinding him briefly. This was obviously the reenactment which projected an accident, with Bospho as the unlucky victim in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Revan selected the scenario marked as 'Bospho2 - assassin'.

The holo reset itself, and Bospho came in as he had before. This time, however, another figure came in just as Bospho had finished his rounds. There was no detail to that figure, just a humanoid with a blurred face and undistinguishable features. Bospho frowned in annoyance, but held out his right hand to shake the hand the figure extended to him. Almost immediately, Bospho stiffened, and stayed rigidly in the same position when the figure stood back. Bospho's face contorted in a mixture of agony, rage and shock. His lips moved as though to speak or shout, but nothing came out. The holo didn't seem to provide sound.

The figure seemed to be talking to Bospho, questioning him as he circled around the stricken bodyguard. It wasn't clear to Dustil if Bospho answered or not, but the big man was twitching and shaking in the grip of great pain. Beads of sweat ran down Bospho's face, muscles standing out like knotted cords on his neck.

Finally, the figure was either satisfied or disgusted with the lack of answers, and pulled Bospho towards the power conduit with gloved hands, moving Bospho's still-outstretched right arm higher before fiddling with one of the maintenance consoles. The figure slipped out. The conduit exploded, bright actinic light arcing into Bospho and throwing him off his feet, and he landed in the same way he had in the first scenario. The second time didn't improve Dustil's appetite any.

"It's too bad we don't have a Kiffar Jedi around," Revan muttered, walking over and squatting near Bospho's holographic corpse.

"Huh? What's so special about them?" Dustil asked, intrigued.

"A Kiffar Jedi have a special technique unique to their race called psychometry. They touch an inanimate object someone's been holding, and read that person's feelings at the time they were holding them, and see what they've seen."

"Oh. So I guess touching Bospho would tell us who killed him," Dustil remarked.

Shaking her head, Revan demurred, "No, using psychometry on a dead body is forbidden."

"Point's moot anyway. We don't _have_ a Kiffar Jedi." Dustil rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, damn. What do we do now? Our leads have either gone up in smoke or haven't panned out yet." It was damned discouraging, was what it was.

Sighing, Revan nodded, straightening up. "We're not looking in the right place."

Huh, so he wasn't the only one with that feeling. Checking for the telltale air shimmer of the white noise, Dustil said, "That Jedi intuition talking?" Raising his eyebrows at her, he made a small gesture with his hand, the kind Jedi used when Force persuading someone.

"Yeah. Sorta. I guess." Revan scrunched her head into her shoulders defensively when Dustil stared at her in disbelief.

Snorting, Dustil muttered sarcastically, "That answer sure fills me with a lotta confidence... Not. Is that the best answer the former Dark Lord can give me?"

"Hey, if _you've_ got a better grasp of the answer, I'm all ears, smart guy," Revan shot back, shutting the holo down. "Anyway, I don't think going through this same data will lead us anywhere. House Vosaryk has plenty of analysts to sift through the minutia and data and logs."

"I guess there's nothing here for us to do, then," Dustil said. It was disappointing, not having anything new to bring to Lady Versenne. "What did you want a shuttle for, anyway?"

"Without our ship, getting to and from Sluis Van is a bit of a pain," Revan replied, shrugging. "And I'd rather not... inconvenience anymore Vosaryk pilots. Besides, we need to get our stuff. And make arrangements."

There was something she wasn't saying, probably because the room was monitored. Checking his chrono, Dustil saw that they'd already spent several hours in there and talking to the retainers.

"Are you sure we should be running around on Sluis Van with those... people chasing after us?" Dustil said as they walked to the real doors. "I don't think they'll be very nice next time."

"It'll be hard for them to find us," Revan said grimly, "without the tracker."

"They'll probably guess we're staying in Transients," Dustil pointed out.

"Probably. Very likely, in fact," Revan agreed. "But... Transients has how many hotels and hostels and motels, do you think?"

Scratching his head, Dustil guessed, "Thousands?" Transients Dome was one of the biggest, if not _the_ biggest habitat on Sluis Van--or rather, off Sluis Van, since it was in space.

"Yep. Makes it pretty hard to find anybody, doesn't it?"

They walked back towards the docking bay their borrowed ride was in, following directions on Bekim's datapad.

"I don't know if it'd be that hard," Dustil said skeptically. "They know what we look like, and if they're going around with police disguises, they could use that to get cooperation."

Revan smiled smugly. "They won't be able to do that anymore."

"Yeah? What makes you say that?" Dustil asked.

The utilitarian corridors were starting to become gradually more decorated and less plain, the metallic smells falling behind them. They passed by increasing numbers of sentients, all of whom took no particular notice of them, most being Vosaryk employees. They probably thought they were guests or clients. Dustil would bet they would've gotten a lot more stares if Carth had been with them.

"House Vosaryk turned the sergeant's body over to the police. Along with his uniform," Revan said. "So now they know about these impersonators and, more importantly, they're going to be on the lookout for them."

Dustil wasn't too confident in the real police's ability to find these guys, but it might make it harder for them to operate on Sluis Van. "Really? What did the police have to say about getting a body?" Dustil asked, imagining the looks on their faces.

"I don't know. I can't imagine they were too happy about it," Revan replied. "Probably made up a story about an attack on their people, which is more or less what happened. Maybe gave them the logs showing them approaching us at the shuttle station yesterday. Captain Morose was giving me the details while you were having your little chitchat, but he was a bit vague about the details. Not our problem."

Dustil's lips quirked at the 'Captain Morose' nickname before he sobered. "That just means they'll be disguised as something else. Or maybe next time they'll just kill us, not try to capture us."

"Yeah, I know. We'll just have to set up safehouses." Revan grimaced at the thought, probably tallying up how many credits that would cost.

"The _Hawk_?" Dustil began. "No, I guess we can't use the ship, if they know our names and faces," he said glumly, answering his own question.

"No, we can't. I'll have to have BR-01 check it out, inside and out, for any unexpected... gifts," Revan said, hinting darkly of sabotage. "Although it'd make a great base of operations, being mobile."

"I don't like hiding," Dustil muttered. "Or running." He especially didn't like running. Running away was a sign of weakness and cowardice.

"Me, neither. A pity we can't easily disguise a ship as well as we can ourselves." Revan held up her hands. "This'll have to be good enough."

Arriving at the designated docking bay, Revan tapped in the codes to open the doors. They stepped into a small area, about the same size as Lady Versenne's private landing. The shuttle they'd been lent was a standard _Zephyr_-class personal transport, neither too expensive nor too cheap, about middling in terms of cost. It was a very common non-interstellar ship, used by everyone in the galaxy, from shipping lines to serving as private transports for wealthy businesspeople. It looked neither brand-new nor old, with some scratches and minor dents, just as Revan had requested. No one would look twice at it.

"Maybe we should set a trap for this guy," Dustil suggested.

"Out of the question. We already know whoever it is won't risk himself; he'll just send his underlings after us," Revan said, tapping on the shuttle hatch panel. "Besides, Carth's gonna give me grief enough, using you as bait once, so forget a second time. You're the one who suggested they might not settle for a simple capture next time."

Once they were inside, Revan took out two portable scanners and tossed one to Dustil, taking the other one for herself. "Here, I'll take this side, you take that side."

The inside of the shuttle looked comfortable enough, with nerf-hide upholstery and thick carpet, furnishings at odds with the ordinary-looking outside hull. The only seats in the main area were two folding benches that lined the walls, facing each other, stretching the length of the small cabin. Other than that, there wasn't much in there.

Dustil ran the scanner along the right while Revan took the left. They were both quickly done, given the small space. He measured by eye, and thought it should accommodate their belongings, although just barely. Carth and Revan had both traveled light by necessity, so his stuff would take up the majority of the space... if the droids hadn't ditched most of it for the sake of speed. Almost all of the truly incriminating stuff was on the _Hawk_, in smuggler's compartments, stuff like their emergency stash of credits, their real IDs and Revan's Jedi robes, not to mention Carth's uniforms.

"Clean here," Dustil said, shutting the scanner off.

"Here, too," Revan said, stepping out of the cockpit. "Did Carth clear you for this ship type?"

"Uh, yeah," Dustil said cautiously.

It was a simple enough ship to operate, with nothing near the complexity of the _Hawk's_ customized systems. The layout of the controls was pretty standard, Dustil saw, when he peeked into the small cockpit.

"Okay, you start the preflight checks while I check the outside, okay?" Revan said, taking the scanner back from him and pocketing it. She set the white noise generator, still on, into a recharging socket on the control dashboard.

"Uh, yeah, okay."

Settling himself cautiously in the pilot's seat, Dustil flexed his fingers nervously. This was going to be his first-ever solo flight, without Carth sitting watchfully in the co-pilot's seat. _If you mess up, you mess all by your damned self._ Okay, so his father had drummed the basics into his head until Dustil could recite the checks in his sleep. He started at the first item; whatever the ship, the preflights were always the same. Piece of cake, right?

Dustil heard the hatch close behind Revan, then the muffled clanks as she climbed up using the maintenance handholds on the hull. He tapped in the access code, the computer accepting with a musical chime.

By the time he'd finished the preflights and had contacted Vosaryk Shipyard Flight Control, Revan had finished. She hopped into the co-pilot's seat and strapped in. "All clean. You ready?"

"Yeah."

Dustil powered up the repulsorlift coils, feeling the dull roar of the engines coming to life through his bootsoles, and eased the shuttle out of the docking bay cautiously while Revan acknowledged Flight Control's instructions. "So, where to? The hotel? I dunno where it is."

"Yeah." Revan keyed her communicator on and contacted the droids, who immediately sent back a relieved message with the address.

Moving the ship to the nearest holding pattern for entry into the Transients Dome locks, Dustil turned to Revan. "So, what do we do now besides stay out of sight?"

"Research," Revan answered.

"Into what?" Dustil asked.

It didn't take long for them to be shunted into the lock, and then they were in the habitat, on their way to the hotel. Dustil steered the ship easily; the engines were definitely not as ordinary as the shuttle looked, and the controls were very responsive and easy to handle.

"I don't know yet, but I think five years ago would be a good start." Revan leaned back in her seat, clasping her hands behind her head.

"What makes you say that?" Dustil asked absently as he maneuvered the shuttle onto the parking lot on the hotel roof.

Revan waved a hand ambiguously. "Jedi intuition. Deduction. A guess."

The first kiss of the shuttle landing barely registered under his boots. Not bad for his first time, Dustil thought proudly as he shut the engines down.

"Hey, nice landing," Revan said, unstrapping herself, but she made no move to get out of her seat.

Through the cockpit window, Dustil saw JC-01 and BR-01 towing a couple of repulsorlift pallets piled high with cargo containers. He opened the hatch door and extended the ramp for them.

"So, why five years ago?" he asked, listening to the muffled thumps as the droids began unloading in the back.

"It just seems to me like Lady Vosaryk's death is the catalyst for all of this," Revan said, staring up at the ceiling. "And this is when Sayir's profits started inexplicably to plateau."

"And it's when you came back as the Dark Lord," Dustil added sharply, hands clenching on the controls.

Revan glanced sideways at him. "Mn, yeah."

Dustil snorted suddenly as a thought struck him. "What if this was a plan you'd set in motion five years ago, to take over Sluis Van? This is _real_ cute, you know that? You ending up trapped in your own damned plans."

It all made a kind of horrible sense to him now; Revan had always been lauded as a strategic genius. When Darth Revan had found that a straightforward attack on the Sluis Van Navy didn't work, she must've set to undermining Sluis Van from within, pitting House against House by playing on their rivalries. With the ensuing civil unrest and chaos, the SVN in confused disarray as it tried to fight domestic forest fires, Sluis Van and its resources would've fallen right into her lap.

It had all the hallmarks of the Sith way, undermining the enemy, turning his strengths against him, targeting his weaknesses. Dustil hated the part of himself that admired the sheer simplicity and audacity of it.

_Superiority at any cost, Dustil. _There's_ your evil. Or can you live with that?_

"What, being hoist on my own petard?" Revan said dryly. "Happens to me all the damned time."

"This is just too sick," Dustil said, shaking his head. "We're not fighting against some Dark Jedi mastermind, we're fighting against you!"

"Yeah, well, I'm trying to stop me now." Revan took the security computer from JC-01 when the droid rolled into the cockpit, put it on her lap and started tapping the keyboard.

"How can you be so fracking calm about this?" Dustil snapped.

"I'm cleaning up my own mess, aren't I? What more should I do? Have hysterics? Rail at the galaxy that it isn't fair?" Revan replied, tapping on keys.

"Maybe _you_ killed Lady Versenne's mother," Dustil spat bitterly. "Just like you killed mine!"

Her fingers paused for a second before resuming their typing. A glance at her face showed him nothing; it was unreadable. "Maybe. Or maybe she really had been killed in an accident. Or maybe House Khyrohn really did assassinate her. Or maybe it was some other House. I don't know, and neither do you," she said quietly.

"I know for sure you killed _my_ mother," he hissed. The cockpit was suddenly too unbearably small for him to stay in it with _her_. Dustil unstrapped the safety harness and stood, slapping his hand on the door control.

Her voice floated after him as he stepped out. "Maybe it _was_ me who started all this. A Jedi does what's needed. I'm doing what I can, Dustil. As best I can. I can do no more... or less."

Dustil turned away and squeezed himself down the narrow aisle of carefully stacked cargo containers, then out the hatch. On the ramp, he took in deep breaths of the air, laden with the scents of the potted trees and bushes. Bitterness and familiar anger stirred up in his heart, and he clenched his hands, stuffed in his trouser pockets. He walked off the ramp and moved towards the edge of the roof, where he stared out at the buildings in Transients Dome, webs of walkways connecting them.

Every time he thought he could get along with Revan, _that thing_ came up like a spiky barrier. Sooner or later, it always came back to that. Restlessly, he walked around the roof, moving on a winding path through the parked vehicles. He knew he should be thinking about whoever had caused all this trouble--besides Revan--but he couldn't concentrate.

After a while, Dustil heard the shuttle hatch open and footsteps ringing on the ramp. He didn't turn around, listening as the steps receded towards the elevator. _Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn..._

He shouldn't be standing in the open like this, where any passing speeder or swoop could see him. Dustil compromised by stepping behind some bushes, next to a tree, hidden by its leafy canopy. He didn't want to go inside and see _her_. His hand toyed with the loose credits in his pocket compulsively. After some time, he got tired of standing and headed back to the shuttle.

What to do, what to do... Dustil squeezed back into the cockpit and sat back down in the pilot's seat, pushing the seatback down as far as it could go and propped his feet on the controls. Carth would never have let him do that, but then his father wasn't there, was he.

How did one act around the former Dark Lord? Especially a former Dark Lord who'd killed his mother, however indirectly, and was his father's lover? _Very carefully._ He may well have been jumping to conclusions, but it was a definite possibility Revan had started this five years ago. She had the patience for it, and the knowledge. But with the defeat of Malak, and Revan's obvious return from the Dark Side, those long-laid plans should've collapsed. The Sith stationed here should have fled, or joined up with one of the Houses.

Question: so why hadn't they deserted? Answer: there was still someone in charge. Likely a Dark Jedi. Question: why? Answer: He... was still working on that. Without the support of the Sith fleet, all the cunning machinations in the galaxy wouldn't help them take over Sluis Van. Question: How did House Vosaryk, House Khyrohn and House Sayir fit into all of this? Answer: Stirring up trouble among three of the most powerful Houses on Sluis Van would cause a large amount of confusion and chaos.

There was a chime at the cockpit door, startling Dustil out of his question-and-answer thoughts. It wasn't Revan. He'd forgotten he'd locked the door. He slapped the button and the doors opened to reveal one of JC-01's rolling compartments, the only part of the droid that could fit in the aisle. It had a covered tray from which the most delectable odors emanated. Dustil took the tray, realizing he was hungry, and that it was lunchtime now. He smiled; having punctual mealtimes was practically a primary directive hardwired into the servitor droid.

The political situation on Sluis Van was starting to spiral out of control, one House was going to declare a battle to the death with another, assassins were after both them and Lady Versenne, but by damn, he was going to get three square meals a day, clean sheets and laundry. Dustil chuckled, and tucked into his lunch.

After lunch, Dustil flipped idly through the HoloNet news, since there was a complete comm system on the dash. There were the usual rumors and sludgenews about Carth and Revan's absence from Coruscant, ranging from the ludicrous to the downright ridiculous. Some were pretty funny. There was nothing in the local news about Bospho's death, just reports focusing on the end of the Bazaar, and speculations about what the Heads would wear this year at Bazaar's End. There was nothing about a police investigation into impersonators, two smugglers, or a scarred, swarthy man making trouble, either.

Night fell gradually, the sky darkening by degrees as the Transients Dome passed into the night side in its stationary orbit above the planet, the stars fading into view. Dustil pondered going to his hotel suite. He was not, dammit, sulking. Or hiding. Nothing to hide from, right? He had to see Revan sooner or later. _Let it be later._ No new answers had come to him while he'd been brooding, anyway. Just old ones circling around and around in worn ruts in his head.

Dustil stood and stretched until joints popped loudly, then headed out. He was about to head into the elevator when a speeder-taxi approached. Curious to see who was arriving so late, it being long past the rush hour, Dustil stopped and moved into the cover of some bushes.

The first thing that registered in his awareness was the blue and silver of a policeman's uniform. _Shit, they've found us!_ was his first reflexive thought. Dustil found that he had his blasters ready in his hands without being aware that he'd taken them out of his holsters. Then he saw a familiar face, illuminated clearly by the lights glowing brightly on the roof.

Not knowing just whom had captured who, Dustil stepped through the bushes and raised his blasters. His attempt at quiet steps was foiled when he stepped on a fallen twig, and he winced at the loud crack as it snapped.

There was a muffled curse as the figure spun, then a bright flash of light as a sword was unsheathed.

Dustil froze.

* * *

Argh. I'm over two weeks late! However, it's a crazy long chapter, 16,355 words! That's, like, two chapters, right? The next chapter is going to be really long, too, at least 15,000... (And Prisoner 24601 just convinced me it should be longer. That's right, folks, blame her.) Aiya. This would've been up sooner, except someone cut my damn phone line, and I don't have dialup from home. Argh.

Menolly Onasi: Heh, you know you love cliffhangers, admit it! I gotta keep you guys coming back for more somehow, right?

Kosiah: Heh, glad you enjoyed. And a bigass flashback's gonna be in the next chapter, don't you worry. Glad you like the action scenes, it's all the old kungfu movies and martial arts serials I used to watch, I think. :)

Prisoner 24601: Heh, it's the 5 dexterity implant. :wink, wink: Yeah, the guy's so loyal and devoted, and has such a strong sense of duty.

Lunatic Pandora1: Nope, no rest for the wicked.

Kazic: Here it is!

Reitz: Another Carth fangirl, huh? :)

Josh: Thanks!

snackfiend101: Be patient, you'll see. And here's your Revan chapter. :)

Rascarin: Ow, not the wooden sticks!

VMorticia: I actually suck at platform games. I think I was influenced more by old martial arts flicks. Heh.

Miss Krux: Glad you're enjoying. And, geez, you shoulda finished the game before reading! I have a big ol' 'spoilers!' alert right in the summary!

Chani: Thanks!

wook77: Aw, so glad you enjoyed. And, sorry, but no Canderous. At least, not for a very, very long time. I do have a Canderous fic cookie in my kotorfanfic guestbook, though.

Feza's twin: Hey, 38's not old, is it? :) Heh, Big Red will welcome him back with open arms (and bosom).

VanillaLatte: Aw, thanks! I'm gonna finish this fic if it kills me! (I'm afraid it will.)


	56. Juxtaposition

**Chapter 56: Juxtaposition**

There was a loud hiss and a clash that rang around the roof when Carth resheathed his sword forcefully. He took in a deep inhalation, because he hadn't dared to breathe when he'd seen the blasters. When someone had their gun aimed at you, the world tended to recede into the background, the foreground being wholly taken up by the muzzle. On the sighing exhalation, he said reproachfully, "Dammit, Dustil, you scared the sh-hell outta me. Is that any way to welcome your old man back home?" Hadn't _that_ brought back bad memories of Korriban...

Of course, he had no _good_ memories of Korriban, except for the moment when Dustil rejected the Sith.

Dustil had lowered his blasters and reholstered them the minute he'd recognized him, at least. "Uh, sorry. I wasn't expecting you to come back this soon, and I saw the police uniform and thought... um, anyway. Welcome back?" he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Carth stooped and picked up the flowers, the aroma of brandy cloying in his nose from the man's drenched uniform. He'd forgotten how strong the smell of Savereen brandy was. "Thanks," he said with a wry grin as he straightened up. "It's good to be back." Tentatively, Carth reached out and gripped Dustil's shoulder, pulling him into an awkward, one-armed hug, and was immensely pleased when Dustil didn't shrug him off.

Surreptitiously, Carth looked his son up and down; Dustil was alive, unmarked, with no signs of a fight on him or any visible injuries. That was something. Which meant Revan had to be all right, too. Good. He could admit to himself now that he'd half expected them to kill each other. Well, maybe not _kill_ each other, but... Anyway, he should've had more faith. More trust. _You trusted them-well, Revan-enough to leave them alone..._

But Revan was right, too; he couldn't have protected them from each other forever. He had to sleep _sometime_. Who knows, maybe this little interlude alone with each other was a good thing.

Looking at the ill-concealed sullenness and anger in his son's eyes, Carth thought gizka might fly out his butt first.

Wondering if he should ask Dustil what'd happened between him and Revan, or leave it alone until he spoke to Revan first, Carth hauled the man up again.

"Interesting souvenir you brought back, Father," Dustil remarked, then wrinkled his nose as he caught a whiff of the brandy Carth had spilled on himself and the police impersonator. "I'm hurt you didn't invite me out drinking with you and your, uh, friend." He added sourly, "_She's_ going to be even more upset."

There was no mistaking the not-so-subtle emphasis on 'she'. Both of them knew just whom Dustil meant. Carth had heard the emphasis before, but there was something different about it, this time. Then he realized what it was. The anger and resentment in it was more... intense, somehow. _Did they just fight?_

"Hey, did you have too much to drink?" Dustil's voice snapped Carth out of his reverie.

"I didn't touch a drop, son," Carth said dryly. His eyebrows rose. "Uh, you don't look surprised to see that I've got a policeman with me. Mind telling me why that is?" He'd belatedly realized Dustil had not commented, nor had he looked alarmed... and that his son's first reaction had been to pull out his blasters.

Shrugging, Dustil took the man's other arm, taking some of the weight off Carth. "He's not the first catch I've seen. Me and her, we bagged us a sergeant." He could've been talking about getting groceries from the corner store, and the great deal he'd gotten on nerf steak.

"Really?" Carth drawled archly. "Sounds like a lot's been happening since I left." He stuffed the questions that threatened to tumble out of his mouth like newly hatched gizka spawn back down. Babbling would get him nowhere, especially gibbering things like 'Are you alright?', 'What the hell happened?', and similar distraught, overprotective fatherly utterings.

"Yeah, you could say that," Dustil tossed off with a flippancy that started Carth's senses twanging. "She didn't tell you we've already got one?"

"No... Must've slipped her mind..." Carth said thoughtfully. _Revan, just what the hell have you been up to?_ "Wonder if I can get a refund."

The lights winked on Dustil's grin. "I doubt it. An exchange's gonna be the best you can do."

Carth grunted. "I hate getting duplicates." And here he'd been so proud he'd bagged a live one to interrogate. Maybe he should've gotten the more traditional box of chocolates, considering Revan's Hutt-sized sweet tooth.

"Maybe you can exchange him for a prettier one," Dustil joked. He shifted the man's arm across his shoulders more comfortably. "And, uh, not so heavy."

Dustil raised an eyebrow and smirked sourly when he saw the box of flowers in Carth's hand, now the worse for wear. Defensively, Carth tried to stuff it back into his pack, but Dustil snatched the battered box from him before he could hide it.

"Aw, flowers for _me_?" Dustil said sarcastically. "You shouldn't have." Holding the box up to his face, he sniffed cautiously at it. "Nebula orchids. Huh." His lips twisted, though whether in disapproval or disgust, Carth didn't know.

"Hey, gimme that." Carth grabbed the box back and self-consciously stuffed it back into his pack.

"_Mother_ liked moonflowers," Dustil said, a sharp, bitter edge suddenly in his voice.

_Dammit, not now, Dustil. I don't want to fight with you._ "Yeah. Yeah, she did," Carth agreed, carefully noncommital.

Maybe if he didn't say anything provocative, he could get through this without a screaming argument erupting. Unfortunately, he was getting the feeling _anything_ he said might set Dustil off. Dammit, he was tired of walking on eggshells around his own son. Carth tamped the frustration back down. _Patience, Onasi, even if it's not one of your virtues._ Later, he would talk to Dustil later. When he was calmer.

Desperately casting about for something safe to say, Carth said, "So, uh, how've you been, son?"

"Fine," Dustil said, a bit sullenly.

Great, it was back to the typical teenage monosyllabic answers. Carth restrained himself from sighing. This was like extracting teeth.

As they shuffled sideways to fit themselves into the small elevator with their burden, Carth said, "Really. So, tell me how you caught one of these guys."

Dustil freed a hand to punch a button. "We were going to the shipyard to check on the ship. On the way there, these guys came out of the blue and said they were there to arrest us for murder."

A bit puzzled, Carth asked, "How'd you know they weren't real policemen?"

"I could tell they were lying. And they were way too heavily armed for real police; I mean, they carried enough firepower to be Special Weapons," Dustil answered, seeming to relax slightly now that the topic had moved off dangerous ground. "They knew our names and faces."

"What?" Carth said, alarmed. "You mean our real-"

"Nah, not those," Dustil said, shaking his head. He gave Carth a cocky smirk. "I think they'd run the other way if they knew who we really are."

"Oh," Carth said, not sure whether to feel relieved or not. "Uh, and did you get a chance to check the ship?" Dustil's words registered. "Wait, _murder_?" he said sharply. _Oh, no, they didn't kill each other, but they killed someone else?_ went the panicked thought in his head. _Who did they kill, and where did they hide the body? Bodies...?_

"Well, no... and yeah. We kinda forgot the ship in all the, um, excitement," Dustil replied, hauling the man out first when the elevator chimed and the doors opened.

"'Excitement?'" Carth repeated suspiciously. "What... excitement? And what's this about murder?"

"Er, would you believe Vosaryk Shipyard Security picked us up for murder the minute we got there?" Dustil said, giving Carth a sheepish look.

"What, again?" Carth said, frowning at his son across the man's shoulders. "You still haven't explained to me why you were charged with murder," he added, feeling his heart sink.

"Yeah, we got tossed into the brig. Oh, my room's here," Dustil said, pressing his palm on a door panel. "We can put him in the box."

"Box? What box?" Carth said, feeling like he'd walked into the middle of a story, and had no idea of what they were even talking about. "Tossed into the brig?"

"The box we used to bring the one we caught up to the shipyard," Dustil explained matter-of- factly, pulling the man and Carth into the room.

"You didn't mention this before!" Carth protested, left holding up the man by himself while Dustil pulled a large repulsorlift box into the middle of the room and opened the top.

"I just did," Dustil said, rolling his eyes.

Carth lifted the man up and unceremoniously dumped him into the box, tucking his legs in carelessly, too distracted to be gentle. "Anything else you've left out?" he growled, slamming the top down with perhaps unnecessary force and locking it.

Dustil shrugged and dropped into a sprawl on a couch. "Well, lots of stuff..."

"Maybe you should start at the beginning," Carth suggested dryly, dropping into a chair. "So that I can stop saying 'what?' every so often."

"It's no big deal, Father," Dustil said, shrugging irritably.

It was always 'Father' when Dustil addressed him. It used to be his son had called him 'Dad'. Back when there'd still been a 'Mom'. Carth swallowed the lump of sadness that'd gotten caught in his throat. Maybe one day Dustil would call him that again.

"Tell me, and let me decide for myself if it's a big deal or not," Carth suggested, stretching his legs out to show he wasn't leaving anytime soon.

Putting on an expression of indifference, Dustil shrugged again. "Whatever."

"So how did these guys find you, anyway?" Carth asked, trying not to feel discouraged by his son's lukewarm response.

Dustil scowled, though Carth could tell it wasn't, for once, directed at him. "Yanno how that Vosaryk rep gave us a token that lets us get onto the shipyard?" Carth nodded. "Well, turns out they put trackers on them."

"Wait, wait, you mean _Vosaryk_ sent these rail-rats after you?" Carth blurted, sitting bolt upright in his chair.

"No, no, they put trackers on all their tokens," Dustil said, waving a hand in negation, "but it looks like someone on the inside used their systems to track us."

"Someone on the inside... a traitor, or a spy, you're saying," Carth said with a frown.

"Yeah, maybe. Don't know for sure yet. The Vosaryk people are working on it," Dustil said, not exactly looking happy at that fact.

Hell, Carth wasn't happy about it, either. This whole situation on Sluis Van was landing them deeper and deeper into something that was smelling worse than bantha poo-doo. What, Carth didn't know yet, but it was bound to be bad.

"Is that why we're at a different hotel?" Carth asked, looking around.

The hotel room looked similar to the one they'd stayed in before, maybe slightly bigger and a bit more opulent than the other. There was just an open duffel bag with Dustil's things on another chair, and the countersurveillance devices were on the table, not hidden around the room to conceal them from any of the hotel's staff who might enter. The black boxes meant they could speak freely, anyway.

Revan and Dustil either hadn't settled in yet, or they weren't planning to. Carth missed the _Ebon Hawk_ all of a sudden. It was just a smuggler's ship, but it did have guns, and he'd feel safer if they were all back on board something that could make a fast getaway.

"Yeah, figured we'd been compromised, pretty much," Dustil agreed. "Did you find anything when you were away? You came back earlier than I thought."

_ Well, there was this... woman..._ Carth thought, but said instead, "Yeah, I found out some stuff..." He looked around. "Hey, are the droids around?"

"BR-01's here. Why?" Dustil asked, curiosity overtaking his earlier surliness.

The droid itself rolled into the living room area at the mention of its name. "Welcome back, Master," it said with punctilious courtesy.

Carefully, Carth released the tiny camera from his belt buckle and held it out. "Hey, can you digitize this for me?" He handed it to the droid, which took it carefully in a manipulator grip. "Get the best resolution you can on it, and see if you can extrapolate enough data to make holos."

"Acknowledged. The process will take approximately two standard hours." The droid deftly removed the roll of film from the mechanism and placed it into one of the compartments on its body. "If that is all?" It rolled off with a whir of its treads when Carth waved a dismissing hand at it.

Dustil looked impressed. "How'd you manage to smuggle a camera in?"

"It was no big deal," Carth said, deliberately repeating Dustil's earlier words. "Didn't Grandad show you his film and cameras?"

After frowning in confusion for a few seconds, Dustil's face cleared. "Oh, you mean the stuff with the chemicals in a dark room, pictures appearing on paper when you put them in special solutions?"

Carth nodded. "Yeah. Used the stuff he taught me to make a recorder that doesn't use any power packs, so it can't be detected."

"That's pretty neat," Dustil said with grudging admiration. "I always thought that stuff was, well, useless. Neat, but useless."

"Nothing's useless, son. All knowledge is worth having, the Jedi tell me, and that's one thing I actually agree with them on," Carth said, feeling a little gratified at seeing Dustil's admiration, however grudging.

"Is that all you got?" Dustil said, sounding like a little boy asking for souvenirs, and disappointed he'd only gotten one.

"No..." Carth took out his datapad, thumbing it on, only to find that the files he'd stolen from House Boro were encrypted. "Damn!" Not that he was surprised, really.

"What?" Dustil craned his neck to see.

Holding out the datapad for his son to see, Carth said, "Encrypted files. Stole 'em when I broke out." Belatedly, he wondered if that was something he should be telling his son. What would that teach Dustil? It was hardly role model behavior, after all.

"Oh." Dustil looked disappointed. "_She's_ got the security computer," he added, lips thinning.

Crap, and Dustil had only just started to relax. Carth had to work to stifle a growl of frustration. "Well, I guess the sooner these're decrypted,"-he waved his datapad-"the sooner we'll know what they're planning. Do you know where she is?"

"_I_ dunno, I'm not her keeper," Dustil snapped, crossing his arms on his chest. "How the hell should _I_ know where she is?"

Carth told himself firmly that Dustil was much too old and big for him to spank now, although there was a large part of him that was more than willing to try. He could only admire Revan's patience and perseverence in not giving his son at least one slap. _That I know of, anyway._

"Well, can't you sense her with the Force?" Carth pointed out mildly.

Dustil scowled in annoyance laced with some embarrassment. "She's been hiding herself in the Force ever since I met her on Coruscant. I can't find her."

That was a surprise; Carth hadn't known that. "Which room's she staying in, then?"

"Room across from mine," Dustil said sullenly.

Unable to keep his temper, Carth snapped exasperatedly, "Dustil, I really hope you haven't been acting like this all this time. You're sixteen, for the Force's sake, start acting like it!" He knew they were the wrong words the second they escaped from his mouth. _Oh, shit. Onasi, you idiot!_

"_I'm_ not the one with a girlfriend five years younger than you," Dustil exploded, springing to his feet, face suffused with anger. "_I'm_ not the one who forgot Mother to hook up with her murderer!"

"I never forgot your mother!" Carth said, standing his ground and struggling to keep his voice even. "And I never will!" Unfortunately, he had no rebuttal for that 'murderer' remark. He settled back in his chair in a deceptively calm pose. A pose, however, was all it was.

"Oh, yeah?" Dustil sneered. "It sure as hell looks to me like you did!"

Carth stuffed the answering anger back down ruthlessly. "You're the one with the Force powers, son. You can tell if someone's lying," he challenged, amazed that his voice was so calm when he wasn't calm at all. He stood slowly, facing his son. "Watch and listen closely to this, then: I love your mother, and I _always_ will. _Always_," he said in a soft, intense voice.

For the first time that night, Dustil looked uncertain.

Forcibly unclenching his hands, which had unaccountably curled into fists, Carth looked Dustil in the eye, into a face so like his own, but with Morgana's eyes. They were accusing, and hurt, and it took a lot of effort for Carth to be able to meet them. The anger ran out of him, replaced by weariness. He had to look up slightly, because Dustil was a couple of inches taller than him. It was yet another reminder that he hadn't been there to watch him reach that height. _My boy, all grown up..._

"Well?" Carth asked quietly. "Am I lying?"

"No. No, you're not," Dustil admitted reluctantly. His face hardened. "You're still fucking the former Dark Lord," he spat viciously. "You know, the woman who made the fleet that bombed Telos and killed Mother?"

Carth was torn between reprimanding Dustil for his language and saying, "Malak bombed Telos, not Revan!" but he didn't think that would go over very well, or that his son would care about the distinction. All he could think to say was, "I love Revan, too."

Taking a deep breath, Carth continued in the face of Dustil's bitter hostility. "Dustil, your mother-she-I don't think she'd be so, so selfish as to not want me-_both_ of us-to be happy. She was a wonderful, generous woman, and we both know she didn't have an unkind or selfish bone in her body."

Dustil curled his lip at this. "I doubt she would've wanted you with Darth Revan, the Dark Lord of the Sith."

"My point is that she would've wanted me to be happy," Carth said in an even voice. He rubbed his forehead wearily. "Your mother and I-we, we've talked about this before."

"Talked about what?" Dustil said warily. His eyes-_Morgana's eyes_-blazed with anger. "Cheating on her with the Sith Lord?" he spat.

Carth inhaled through his nose and held it for a few beats before exhaling through his mouth, restraining his temper. He sat back down. After a moment, Dustil seated himself on the edge of the couch. "We talked about what would happen if I died in the wars. You have to understand, it looked hopeless for the Republic side eight years ago, before Revan and Malak brought the Jedi into the fight, and a lot of my friends and fellow soldiers had died in the fighting. I was afraid... I'll admit I was afraid of what might happen to me, but I was more afraid of what might happen to you and your mother, if I... well, if I died in the fighting."

It had been a dark, desperate time, when it had seemed like everyday the Republic retreated further and further from the Outer Rim to the Core Worlds from the Mandalorian assault. He had attended entirely too many hastily arranged funerals where there hadn't even been a body in the coffin, because any remains had been either left behind or vaporized, and it seemed like the roll call of the dead had had more names on it than there were living.

Raking a hand through his hair, Carth said, "I-I'd like to think that I'd be unselfish enough to want your mother to be happy if she... if she met anyone after I died. I wouldn't have wanted her to feel guilty, or like she was betraying me, or like she didn't deserve to be loved. I'd want her to be happy, and I'd want you to be cared for by someone, someone who'd protect you and love you."

_Someone who'd be a better father to you than I was. And maybe a better husband to Morgana._

"I-I always thought _I'd_ be the one who'd die..." Carth closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against them. "I... never in a million years would I have thought that-would've seen what would happen." _If I had, Morgana would still be alive, and you wouldn't be staring at me with hate in your eyes._

Cautiously, Carth opened his eyes to gauge Dustil's reaction. Dustil looked back, but his face was unreadable. "I... Dustil, I wish it had been me. I wished it every day for four years. You and your mother-you were _everything_ to me, you were my life. Everything I did, I did for you," he said in a low voice.

"Why didn't you stay when the wars ended?" Dustil asked, when silence had descended between them, uncomfortable and awkward. "Why did you have to go away again?"

Carth imagined he heard the confused, hurt cry of the twelve-year-old he'd left behind when the new Sith war started. It was harder to bear than the young adult's anger had been. "I-I was doing my best to protect you, you and your mother. The Sith came back-"

"_Revan_ came back," Dustil corrected, eyes bright with anger again, his hands curling into tight fists. "_Revan_ came back with the Sith. But _you_ chose to go away again, when I-when Mother thought you'd come back to stay!"

Carth flinched, but he went on grimly. He owed Dustil an explanation, however poor it would seem. "I'd planned to, Dustil. I had my resignation papers all filled out, all ready to go on the way back from the wars. But Revan... the Sith, they were a bigger threat than the Mandalorians ever were. I couldn't, I couldn't _not_ do my duty! I've seen her fight, I've seen her tactics, I knew the damage she could do!" _And did do._ "I had to help stop her!" _And I wasn't able to stop her. We failed. _I_ failed..._

"Yeah? I suppose you're gonna tell me it's your _duty_"-Dustil sneered-"to _sleep_ with Revan now instead of _fighting_ her, huh?"

Dammit, it was back to this again. "I suppose there are some fights I can't win," Carth said, feeling defeated and tired. "Revan _lost_, Dustil. She lost everything, her memories, her life, everything she'd ever been. You can't punish her anymore than that-no one can." _Although they'll try their damndest to._

"We'll just have to see about that," Dustil said coldly.

Carth went still. "And what's that supposed to mean?" he said sharply. He got slowly to his feet, holding Dustil's gaze. "What's that supposed to mean?" he repeated slowly, enunciating each word precisely in the hopes that doing so would help him calm his fraying temper somehow.

Dustil shrank back a little from whatever he saw in Carth's face, but rallied gamely. "I mean not everyone's going to be as... _forgiving_,"-he said the last word like it tasted bad in his mouth-"as _you_."

_You mean _you're_ not gonna be as forgiving, don't you?_ All of a sudden, Carth felt much too old and tired to deal with this. He scrubbed his face with the heel of one hand. "Look, I need to get these files decrypted," he said. "I'll let you know when they're done, and then we can all compare notes, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever," Dustil tossed off indifferently, but his eyes gave away his still-simmering anger. "Just go if you're going."

Carth couldn't help sighing this time, but at least it was quiet enough that Dustil ignored it. His eye fell on the box still sitting there in the middle of the room, looking very out of place among the elegant furnishings. He supposed the man would keep, but was it safe to just dump him in Dustil's room? "Is it safe to leave him here?" he asked dubiously.

"The box will release a sedative into the air inside if he gets frisky." Dustil shrugged, airily dismissing Carth's concerns. "The guy we brought up didn't let out a peep, and he was bigger than this one."

"I'll, uh, I'll see you later, then," Carth said. Dustil grunted; the sound could've indicated everything from indifference, acknowledgement to indigestion.

Carth had his hand on the door panel when Dustil's voice made him turn back around. "Hey, Father, I gotta ask you something before you go."

"What?" Carth looked hopefully at his son, who was giving him an odd smirking grin, mischief replacing the anger for a moment in his eyes.

Dustil's smirk widened. "What happened to your neck?"

"Uh..." Carth's hand flew to his throat. Dammit, he'd totally forgotten about that gigantic damned hickey on his neck. His cheeks grew hot. "Uh..." he said again, mind racing as he stalled for time to come up with something plausible. He discarded _a giant woman held me hostage and bit me_ as an answer right out. And Dustil can tell if he's lying, blast it. "I'll, uh, I'll, uh... I'll tell you later," he mumbled hurriedly. _When I've had some time to think of a good story that's got enough truth in it to let me off the hook._

A strategic retreat was definitely in order, especially in the face of his son's grin. At least Dustil wasn't yelling or angry anymore-at least for the moment. No, he was just having a bit of fun at his father's expense. Well, he should be used to it by now, Revan having embarrassed him at least once a day ever since he'd met her. She'd probably say it was good for his soul, and built character, or something.

Gritting his teeth, Carth looked away from the insufferable smirk on his son's face and stepped out into the corridor. He rubbed his neck; nothing he could do about the bite now. As a lame sort of compromise, he turned the collar up on his tunic and fastened it closed. Then he took out the box of flowers, unwrapped them, and palmed the door to Revan's suite.

Carth took another deep breath, vastly relieved to have finally reached safe ground. He felt tensed muscles that had been knotted up the entire time he'd been in House Boro relax. But he tensed back up immediately at seeing a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye; he turned to see a blur heading straight towards him. His hand reached automatically for his sword, his thoughts spinning wildly.

Had a House Sayir agent somehow managed to follow him, divined his purpose in infiltrating their compound and was about to make sure no one would ever benefit from his information?

His hand clenched around the hilt with frustrating slowness, as if he were moving through molasses-too late, because the blur was already on him!

Literally. It clamped its legs around his waist, the blur's momentum staggering him a few steps, though he managed to keep his feet-_Strange way to kill somebody_, he thought in bewilderment-and seized two fistfuls of his hair, yanking his head forward.

Then the mysterious blur kissed him. Hard.

His heart had pounded itself right up into his throat from the moment he realized he wasn't alone in the suite. Now it slid out of his mouth back down into its proper place in his chest, making room for her tongue.

_Wow_, Carth thought dreamily, _I could get used to enthusiastic greetings like this_. His arms, smarter than his still-spinning brain, had wrapped themselves around her, and his free hand had found its way into her hair, his fingers working through her thick mane to cup the nape of her neck.

After a while that was entirely too short, and yet seemed long at the same time, he disengaged, breathing a trifle heavily. Revan wasn't, but then she had all the benefits of breathing control exercises she practiced for playing her pipe.

Revan leaned her forehead against his, letting go of his hair, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Miss me?" she asked, a mischievous curve to her lips, but he also saw the relief and worry in her eyes. She still had her legs wrapped firmly around his waist-not that he minded. At all.

Her breath puffed against his cheeks, smelling of mint and spices, something he'd missed terribly, along with the fragrance of her hair, the smooth, velvet feel of her skin, the way her eyes sparkled at him, her cool fingers, the way she felt like harnessed lightning, wild and controlled at the same time in his arms...

Carth wrenched his thoughts back on track. "You have to ask?" he said, burying his nose in her hair, taking in deep breaths of her scent, like a man who had narrowly escaped decompression might suck in huge inhalations of sweet, life-giving oxygen.

He tilted his head back to frown down at her, though he was hard pressed to keep his expression severe. "You damned well almost gave me cardiac arrest, woman!"

Eyes narrowing to laughing slits, Revan's mouth stretched in a slow smile as she murmured, "Only 'almost'?" She craned her neck to brush her lips lingeringly against his. "I'll have to work on that, then," she promised, tugging the locks of hair that always fell onto his brow with her cool fingers.

"Mhm. But we'll have to work on it later," he said, not without a pang of regret. She pouted charmingly, but sprang lightly back onto her feet, releasing him.

"Oh, what's this?" Revan exclaimed in delight, looking at what he held forgotten in one hand.

Carth grinned and gave her the flowers, and was rewarded with another kiss that curled his toes and made him wish he could hold his breath longer.

"They're beautiful," she said, burying her nose in the blossoms.

"Like you, gorgeous," Carth said with a smile, and was given another kiss that took his breath away.

"Thanks, flyboy." Revan padded lightly over to the vase holding a generic spray of flowers on the living room table and carelessly tossed it out, putting the orchids in their stead. She turned back to him with a smile that made him warm all over.

She tugged him to the table, where JC-01 had already set out his favorite snacks. He frowned, wondering how she'd known almost to the exact moment when he would arrive. His face cleared, belatedly remembering she could always sense his presence, so it followed that she could then predict when he would arrive.

"I got something else, too," Carth said. With the air of a man taking a gizka out from behind someone's ear, he showed her his pad with a flourish. "Encrypted files I stole."

"Ah!" Revan took the datacard out the back of his pad and dropped down cross-legged onto the floor in front of the security computer on the table. "Oh, it's going to take some hours to decrypt them all," she said with some disappointment, examining the holo the computer projected.

_Oh, good_, Carth thought, but said, "Too bad. I guess we'll just have to wait, huh?"

Staring broodily at the screen, Revan said, "Yeah, we haven't got much choice in the matter. If they were encrypted, it's likely they're important. Did you have much trouble getting them?"

_Well, I was in more fights than I can count, this... woman ambushed me, and I got beaten up a few times..._ "No, no trouble at all," Carth said.

Revan gave him a dubious look, but didn't question him further, to his relief. Although he supposed she would get it out of him later. There were her methods of interrogation to look forward to.

"And just what are you smirking at, flyboy?"

"Oh, er, nothing," Carth said innocently, her voice jerking him out of his increasingly inappropriate thoughts. He sat down on the couch and pulled her into his lap.

He took a glass of cold water Revan handed to him, keeping her in the circle of his other arm, pulling her into his lap. She stretched out on him like a lazy cat taking its ease on a familiar, sun-warmed ledge. From the small smile on her face, and her half-lidded eyes, he thought she might even start purring any minute.

Revan waited until he drained the glass and started another one. The evasive route he'd taken to elude any House Sayir pursuit had not been particularly frightening, but it had been a long and circuitious one, where he couldn't stay still in any one location for more than a few minutes.

"So. Tell," Revan commanded after he'd drunk his fill.

Carth smiled dryly at her. "Yes, sir," he said sardonically. She swatted at him and wrinkled her nose. And that had been something he'd missed, too; her playfulness, her teasing, her laughter. He reflected on the advantages he had in reporting to Revan as opposed to the countless debriefings he'd been in, usually standing at attention in front of his commanding officers' desks.

Well, none of them had ever been as beautiful as she, not even the few women COs he'd served under. And Revan certainly didn't protest his brushing his hand through her hair, nor his other arm holding her close in a tight embrace. _Definitely_ not something his COs would appreciate, and certainly wouldn't be amused to know he'd even think it. Of course, he'd never had any such desire, he thought, grinning at his musings. A satisfied sigh rumbled up out of his chest as he soaked in the warmth of her closeness, as content as a monkey-lizard basking in the sun. _More_ content.

Sighing, Carth firmly disciplined himself and sat up. He'd indulged long enough; he couldn't put off the inevitable talk he needed to have with her any longer. From the look on Revan's face, she'd sensed his mood growing more serious, and moved off his lap to sit on the couch next to him.

"Actually... that can wait. Revan... beautiful," he began, running a hand through his hair as he tried to find the right words. "We have to talk."

Revan nodded, not speaking as she watched him warily, her smile fading and her eyes turning solemn. "I suppose you want to talk about Dustil," she said quietly. She took a deep breath. "I guess we should. We can't solve other people's problems if we can't even solve our own."

Carth's lips twitched in a fleeting smile. "We manage to do it anyway." He sobered and looked down at the small hand he held in his larger ones, then looked back up. "I want to talk about us, not Dustil, although he's part of it."

Revan tilted her head in puzzlement, and her hair fell in a rippling wave against her cheek. "Us? I don't understand. What about us?"

Carth wondered if she was being deliberately obtuse, and felt himself getting angry. Didn't she know? Or was she stalling? He inhaled, held it for a moment, then let his breath trickle back out of his nostrils, striving to rein in his temper. Revan peered up at him through her hair worriedly.

"Do you remember that promise you made to me, all those months ago, on Dantooine?" he asked, when he felt he'd gotten his emotions and voice back under control. "You promised not to leave me out of the loop."

Revan nodded slowly, still looking perplexed. "I remember."

"Then why have you been keeping me out of the loop?" Carth asked. "I can at least understand the Council keeping things secret from non-Force users who wouldn't understand, and that it's their idea of operational security, but I can't, I really can't understand why you'd keep something like what happened between you and Dustil from me."

"I told you why," Revan said, crossing her arms on her chest. "It was between Dustil and I, and had nothing to do with you. I'm the one he hates, not you, and I wanted to keep it that way."

"He doesn't hate you," Carth disagreed, not missing the dubious look on her face at that denial. He took away a hand from hers to run it through his hair, trying to find the right words. "Okay, he may have hated you before he, you know, got to know you, but I don't think he does now. I mean, he would've pulled the trigger if he had, right?" His belly and heart shivered deep inside, just thinking about it.

"That's... what I wanted to find out," Revan said slowly.

Carth rubbed his face. "I think there could've been a better way for you to find out. But that's not the issue here. The issue here is, is that you didn't tell me. That you didn't trust me with the truth." He took a breath and released it in a loud sigh. "Look, if we reverse the situation, and it had happened to me, _I_ would've told you."

"You wouldn't have gotten yourself in the same situation in the first place," Revan pointed out, eyebrows raised.

Carth shook his head. "But can you honestly say you wouldn't have gone crazy if someone had tried to kill me? And can you honestly say that you wouldn't have been upset if I hadn't told you about it?"

"It would depend on the circumstances, I think," Revan said slowly. "But you're right about me going crazy if anyone had tried to hurt you." She reached out a hand slowly to trace his cheek with her cool fingers.

Catching her hand with his own, Carth pressed it to his face. "Listen, beautiful, I'd be just as crazy, believe me. But it makes me crazier to know that you think I shouldn't have been told. Just what the hell did you think you were doing with that stunt?"

Lips crimping in thought, Revan said, "I'll try to explain by giving you an example, Carth. Do you remember that first sparring lesson we had with Dustil?"

Carth frowned at the seemingly abrupt change of subject, wondering what that had to do with anything. "Yeah? What about it?"

"Remember how we both decided we'd have to knock out whatever arrogance he had about his own prowess first, so we were both extra tough on him, that first time?"

Scratching his chin, Carth nodded, wondering where she was going with this. "Sure. It's a trick all the good sergeants use in boot camp on new recruits who think they're so smart. Teaches them that, whatever else they think they might've been good at, there's always something new for them to learn," he said, remembering his own experience at the Caridan Military Academy. "So we knocked the stuffing outta Dustil," he continued, "to show him he's still got a lot more to learn when it comes to fighting. But what does that have to do with anything?"

Revan tilted her head. "I was trying to give Dustil that lesson. That he still has a lot to learn, and that his negative emotions aren't the only weapons he has at his disposal... and that he _doesn't have to use them_. He doesn't have to be ruled by his emotions, and he doesn't have to do whatever the Dark Side whispers to him. Do you see? Not the same situation as Juhani and Quatra, not really."

Scowling, Carth crossed his arms on his chest. "I don't see the difference. You and Quatra both took insane risks that messed with people's heads."

Sighing, Revan shook her head. "Quatra and Juhani are different. Juhani-you've seen how intense she is, how her very zealousness to become the perfect Jedi can become almost excessive and obsessive. She thought that, if only she is _good enough_, if only she could follow the Jedi Code as if it were gospel, she would be the sort of Jedi she'd always admired, when it doesn't work that way.

"It's not by following something by rote that makes someone a Jedi, it's living with the knowledge of having emotions and feelings, and controlling them. Juhani thought suppressing them was enough, but it's not, which is why Quatra provoked her deliberately, to show her that there's no such thing as a perfect Jedi, and that even the best of Jedi can lose control. And that losing control isn't the end of the world, or even that you've fallen to the Dark Side, not if one becomes aware of it, and steps back from it. That's not quite the case with Dustil."

Closing her eyes, Revan admitted, "I don't know... Maybe if someone had tried that with me, I wouldn't have fallen. I bet I used to think I'd never fall, too, until I did."

Carth uncrossed his arms and propped them on his hips as he stared at Revan in disbelief. "You think what Quatra did to Juhani was a _good_ thing? I can't believe this." He shook his head. "Her _Master_,"-he injected sarcastic scorn into the honorific-"_deliberately_ provoked Juhani into attacking her, and left her to think she'd killed her own Master! I don't know about you, but that makes her _completely_ irresponsible in my book. I mean, come on, we both saw what she was like on Dantooine, she was a mess! Like a, a, an animal gone feral! Like those kath hounds!"

Revan nodded. "I remember, but you're comparing young soldiers to Jedi. Training for a soldier is not the same as training for a Jedi."

"Well, yeah, soldiers can't use the Force," Carth agreed, albeit reluctantly. "But, but for someone who's taken the responsibility of training someone else, I just can't see why or how her Master could do something like that and then abandon her!" He crossed his arms again. "That shouldn't be any different for a soldier than for a Jedi. Hell, I've helped train more wet-behind-the-ears ensigns than I can count on their first cruises, and I would never have left one of them to muddle through a problem and figure it out all by themselves."

"Soldiers, as I said, are not Jedi," Revan asserted patiently. "Soldiers can always follow orders-are, in fact, _trained_ to follow orders. Jedi don't-can't-have that to fall back on." She shook her head. "I love Juhani dearly, but she had all the makings of a fanatic, back on Dantooine."

Carth scratched his head at hearing this; he had never really been all that close to the intense, quiet Cathar Jedi, who spoke seldom, and only tersely when she did. "Fanatic? Juhani? She can get really intense sometimes, even a bit scary, like when she met that scumbag Mandalorian, that's true... but fanatic? That's a little harsh, isn't it?"

"I'll do my best to explain," Revan said, settling back into the couch. "Juhani's spent much of her life proving her worth to someone. Proving that Cathar are not inferior to humans on Taris. Proving to herelf that she is not the worthless slave others made her to be, the scum like Xor and the Exchange slavers. Then she had to prove herself worthy of being a Jedi, of proving to her fellow Jedi that her Cathar blood and hot temperament would not stop her from accomplishing her dream."

"That's pretty admirable of her, to fight all that bigotry all that time and still become a Jedi," Carth said. He'd known Juhani had had it tough, living on Taris in the Lower City, and he'd seen for himself just how hard it was for a human to be living in that squalor, never mind the oppressed non-humans. It had to have been infinitely worse for Juhani, probably the only Cathar left on Taris when her parents died.

"It takes a lot of courage," Revan said thoughtfully. "But also a lot of anger. And resentment."

"Okay, I can see that," Carth said, pulling thoughtfully at his whiskers. "But what's that got to do with Dustil?"

"I think Quatra had been quietly trying to tell Juhani that suppressing her emotions was not what the Jedi Code meant. Juhani responded by suppressing them even more. Juhani believed, truly believed in following the Code, but looking outside of herself, rather than within."

Carth frowned. "You're saying Quatra decided to make Juhani angry to force her to confront her feelings? And that you were doing the same to Dustil?" He scrubbed at his face with the heels of his hands when she nodded. "I don't know... It sounds insane to me. Revan, the risk!" He shook his head again, running his hands through his hair.

"I am a Jedi, Carth. Sometimes that entails risk." Revan turned to face him squarely. "If Dustil is going to be a Jedi, he'll need to confront his emotions when it comes to me. And when it comes to you. Or anyone can turn them against him."

"You can't be saying it was right for you to mess with his head like that!" Carth said, unable to keep the heat out of his voice.

Revan sighed, fingers running through her loose hair. "Carth, I'm not saying I was right. I just did what I thought was right with that opportunity. Maybe another Jedi would've done it differently, but it was me Dustil was aiming his blaster at."

_Another Jedi wouldn't have been my lover, and not the former Dark Lord, so Dustil would've had no reason to point his blaster at her._ Carth decided not to state the obvious. He blew his breath out through his nostrils, trying to keep his temper. Revan watched him warily; Carth supposed he was telegraphing exactly what he was feeling as obviously as a giant holosign.

"Look, Revan, you should've told me. I suppose it's too late for me to tell you what you should've done, even if I still don't think it was right," Carth said. "It was a, a, an insane risk! Fine, but don't you _dare_ tell me it wasn't any of my business."

Revan simply looked confused. At least she wasn't trying any of that serene Jedi crap on him; he didn't think he could hold his temper if she did.

"Revan, you weren't just risking yourself pulling that damned stunt," Carth said, growing incensed, "you were risking Dustil, too!"

A frown furrowed Revan's brows. "I didn't hurt him," she pointed out, sounding bewildered.

"That's not what I mean," Carth said, jaw clenching. "I mean you-what would've happened to Dustil if he'd pulled the trigger, huh?" He clenched his hands into fists to hide their trembling. "It would've pushed him right back into the Dark Side!"

"Or it could have taught him something," Revan said, studiously examining her hands. "Ulic Qel-droma rejected the Dark Side eventually when he killed his brother, Cay."

"You'd be dead!" Carth shouted, fear fueling his anger. Dammit, she was going all calm again, that infuriating, insufferable Jedi serenity that drove him up the wall. He jumped up and paced agitatedly, unable to keep still.

Revan waved a hand in silent agreement.

"You didn't just risk his _life_, Revan, you, you risked his sanity!" Carth continued, no longer shouting, but still worked up. "Hell, you risked _my_ sanity!" He threw himself back down next to her and grabbed her hands. "Dammit, woman, don't you care about _me_? Don't you know what it would've done to me, if Dustil had killed you?" He didn't even want to think about it.

"Carth, life would have gone on all the same. No one, least of all me, is indispensible," Revan said. "The suns would still shine, the planets would still turn, the winds would still blow."

"Dammit, that's not the point," Carth said, hands tightening on hers. "I promised to protect you, Revan. How can I do that if you insist on throwing your life away with these ridiculous, insane," _suicidal_ "grand gestures of yours?"

"They're not ridiculous," Revan said reproachfully.

"Then what do you call this, this test you tried on Dustil, then?" Carth retorted. "What the hell gives you the right to test him, anyway? At least Quatra had the flimsy excuse of being Juhani's Master. "

Revan looked taken aback. "I suppose when Dustil decided to pull a blaster on me. If I'm going to be living with you, Carth, it means living with Dustil. I wanted-needed-to know. One way or the other."

"So you should've told me!" Carth said. "Or told Jolee-someone!"

"But first I had to get past his blaster. As the one on the spot, shouldn't I get any say in the matter?" Revan pointed out. "Do you question the actions of the commander in the field?"

"No, but they'd better give me a damned good report when they come back in," Carth growled. "Which, I'll point out, you didn't even bother with. Commanders are _given_ their authority, but you're neither Dustil's Master, nor are you his mother!"

"If I were, none of this would've come up in the first place," Revan said. She looked uncomfortable at the mention of Dustil's mother-his wife. Carth supposed it was only natural that she would, just as he'd always felt uncomfortable whenever she mentioned Malak.

"I risked a lot, but it made a big payoff, didn't it? Maybe it's the smuggler in me who thought it was worth it."

"Dustil wasn't yours to risk, Revan," Carth bit out. "And he sure as hell wasn't yours to _test_."

"No, Dustil isn't mine-or anyone's-to risk, but surely my life is," Revan said steadily. "He was testing me as much as I was testing him. So I decided to give him the choice."

Carth breathed out forcefully through his nose. It didn't look like they were going to agree on this. "We're not gonna see eye to eye on this, are we?" he asked rhetorically.

Revan gave him a helpless shrug. "I suppose not."

Maybe it was a Jedi thing that he was just not going to understand. Or maybe it was something _Revan_ just wasn't going to understand, because she wasn't a mother. That _he_-or she-knew of, anyway. It was as if there were a glass wall between them, through which both of them could see the other, but never could they meet.

Well, if he couldn't break that wall with a headlong rush, there were always the slower methods of sapping, mining, and searching for weak spots. This wasn't over by a long shot, he told her silently. Since she wasn't arguing as vociferously and tenaciously as he knew she could, maybe she saw his side, too, just a little.

And if he couldn't go _through_ obstacles, he could go around them.

"But don't you think I should've been told, because Dustil's my son and I'm his father? How could you keep that from me?" Carth said plaintively, anger leaking into his voice despite his best intentions.

Revan sat back. "This was between me and him. There were-are-issues that surround him and his mother that are tied up with me."

"Well, they're tied up with me, too," Carth pointed out. "Or didn't you consider that? Shouldn't I have been in on this... discussion of yours?"

"I doubt he would have been as forthcoming if you'd been there."

"But Dustil would never have-he wouldn't have done or tried what he did if it hadn't been for me!" Carth said, pointing out what was, to him, the obvious.

"If we weren't lovers, you mean? I'm not so sure about that. Taking all that aside, I did destroy Telos and kill his mother," Revan said matter-of-factly, but pain and shame threw shadows on her face. "He would have enough reason to hate me for that alone." She met his eyes. "What I wanted to know was whether he would act on them. I would rather these things be thrown or dragged out into the open, where I can see them."

But it was pure insanity, the way she'd done it. This battle plan wasn't working, so maybe it was time to change tactics.

Carth took a deep breath and breathed it back out slowly. "If there's one thing I've learned from marriage, it's that a relationship can't work unless both people are willing to take part in an equal partnership," he said slowly, taking her hand and holding it in his. He looked down into her eyes. "Isn't that what you want? It's what _I_ want."

Revan looked perplexed at his question. "I, of course it's what I want-" she began, a look of faint bewilderment on her face.

He interrupted her. "Then why have you been hiding things from me? Why have you been treating me like a child, treating me like I can't make any of my own decisions?" he asked, doing his best to keep the heat out of his voice.

Revan blinked, a look of bafflement and confusion settling on her features. "I don't understand, Carth. I haven't been treating you like a child... have I?" she asked uncertainly.

Rising from the couch, Carth paced again slowly in front of it, not in anger, but in thought, as he tried to find the right words. "Revan, I hate to say it, but you have." He turned to look at her, at the attentive expression on her face, and felt a little gratified that she was really listening to him this time.

Revan drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, her bare feet rubbing on the couch. She looked oddly young and vulnerable like that, with her hair unbound, falling down around her face. "Could you explain?" she asked.

Carth sat back down on the couch next to her with his right leg curled up in front of him, so that he wouldn't be talking down at her. "Revan, you were telling me I wasn't mature enough to be told my son tried to kill you. That I would be angry and go crazy and do something stupid. I'll grant you I'd be angry, and I might've gone crazy, but you should've had the courtesy to at least let me decide for myself." He put his hands on her shoulders. "You didn't trust me to act like an adult."

Revan's eyes went wide with sudden comprehension and distress, and put her hands over his. "Carth, I never, but that wasn't-that was never my intention!" she cried, her words uncharacteristically stumbling over each other. It was a sure sign of her agitation, especially when she was a Jedi trained in the smooth, persuasive speech of diplomacy.

"Then what was?" Carth asked softly. "Dustil never told you to keep your conversation private-I could see it in his eyes when he threw it in my face. He thought I knew, but I didn't." His hands gripped her shoulders tighter. "_Why didn't you tell me?_" he asked, making all the pain and hurt he felt at her presumption clear in his voice.

Revan hunched her shoulders and wrapped her arms around her legs again, burying her face in her knees. "I'm... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Carth," she said in a plaintive, muffled voice. "I didn't know..."

Carth took a hand off her shoulder and gently lifted up her face with a finger under her chin, brushing the hair out of her eyes with his other hand. "What is it?" he murmured.

"I... I just didn't want to hurt you, Carth. I never wanted to hurt you," Revan said. She looked shaken, and tears stood in her eyes.

"I know," Carth murmured. He inhaled deeply, letting the scent of blossoms fill his lungs and nose. "But you have to understand that... _not_ telling me hurts me even more. I've told you everything in my heart, things that're, that're so painful I've never told them to another living soul. Why can't you do the same? I trust you... don't _you_ trust _me_?" he asked, unable to hide the pain he felt in his voice.

Revan stared at him with complete bewilderment on her face, an expression he'd never seen before on her. "Of course I trust you," she said, as if there'd never been any doubt.

"Do you?" Carth asked softly. "But you didn't trust me enough to tell me what my own son tried to do. Revan, Dustil is _my_ son. I'm his _father_. I may not have been there for him as much as I should've, but don't presume you know him better than me. I had a _right_ to know, Revan." He throttled down his growing anger. This was too important to let anger cloud his judgement.

She paused, obviously thinking his words over, then nodded jerkily. She rubbed her face on her knees, her eyes not meeting his, as if she were too afraid or ashamed to. "Yes, you did," she admitted. "I, I should've realized that," she added in a small voice. "I'm sorry," she said again, her voice nearly a whisper.

Carth cupped her face in his hands so that he could see her eyes clearly. Her eyes skittered away when they caught his. "Revan, look at me," he said. She met his gaze reluctantly. "You really didn't know?" he asked, searching her face.

Revan shook her head vigorously, her cheeks rubbing against his callused palms. She grabbed his hands and held them under her chin. "That was never my intention. I was just... I didn't want to see you hurt. I'm sorry." She looked down at his hands, then visibly forced herself to look him in the eye and took a deep breath. "Carth, I'm... more than sorry, I am... I am ashamed," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"I should've known better," Revan continued. "It was... it was the height of arrogance for me to hide this from you." She covered her eyes with a hand and her lips puffed in a laugh that was completely devoid of humor. "You know, after what the Jedi Council and Bastila hid from me... I suppose it's incredibly ironic that I-" She shook her head. "I should've known better than to repeat what they did."

Carth took her hand away from her face and held it as he looked into her eyes for several long moments without speaking, struggling to find the right thing to say. With every moment that passed in silence her eyes became more and more bleak, until they were nearly as dark as underground pools of water. He could sense her withdrawing into herself, away from him, even though she never moved, and her hands seemed to grow chill.

Unable to bear the silence and whatever she saw in his face any longer, she squirmed around on the couch until her back faced him. He promptly turned her right back around. She sat rigidly and wouldn't meet his eyes, her shoulders seemingly hunched for whatever blow might land.

Cupping her face again, Carth leaned his forehead against hers. She stared uncertainly up at him, looking like she was ready to bolt. "Revan... we all make mistakes," he said softly, rubbing his thumbs on her soft cheeks, feeling her breath puffing against his face. "You made a mistake by not telling me, that's all." He stared down into her eyes.

Revan nodded, her forehead rubbing against his. "Yeah. I, I... didn't understand." She still looked uncertain, and strangely afraid.

The fear in her eyes was baffling, until a sudden realization nearly blinded him. "You're afraid, aren't you?" he asked, his hands moving from her face down to grip her arms tightly. The look on her face reminded him of a frightened wild animal, cornered and brought to bay.

Revan looked startled at his question, and opened her mouth to deny it. Then she closed it as a look of growing surmise flitted across her face. "I... it may be that I am," she said slowly. She touched her brow hesitantly with her fingers, as if trying to determine what was wrong with her by touch as she frowned in confusion.

"Why?" Carth asked, feeling a bit confused himself. He let go of her arms and brought a hand up to twine his fingers into her silky hair as he caressed her cheek with the back of his other hand.

"I, I think it's because I'm afraid of... failing." Revan hunched in on herself. "That I'm the one who'll... the one who destroys our relationship," she said, her words stuttering and stumbling over each other. She wouldn't look at him, hiding her face instead in her knees. "The Force knows it's happened before," she said, her voice barely audible.

Carth slid closer to her and peered into her eyes when he raised her head to force her to look at him. "I don't understand. Before?" he asked, his confusion growing. "Will you tell me?" he asked tentatively.

Revan's eyes unfocused as she stared into space; it looked to Carth to be about as far as light- years. He waited patiently for her to answer.

"Me and Malak," she finally answered, after a few minutes had passed in silence.

Carth felt an invisible fist punch him in the gut, and he expelled his breath explosively as he stared at her in shock. "Y-you mean you and Malak were-" He stopped abruptly, remembering what Malak had said when Revan had confronted the Dark Lord on the Star Forge. "But you weren't..." he began again, confused.

Revan shook her head, hard enough for her hair to slap against his hands. "No, we weren't lovers, as far as I can tell." She touched her forehead again, as if straining to reach memories that kept slipping out of her grasp. "I only remember flashes, you see, like lost bits of melody that are meaningless out of context, but given enough of the fragments, you can tell, sort of, how it goes," she tried to explain.

Relief poured through him like a refreshing waterfall. He nodded. "I know, I remember. I, uh, me and Jolee, we heard that bit of Malak's conversation..." He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering why he felt so damned possessive. She didn't mind that he'd been married, so why should he mind so much that she'd had lovers before him?

He ran a hand through his hair. "I, I guess it bothers me a bit to think that Malak, the Dark Lord of the Sith, used to be that close to you," he said candidly. "It's hard for me to think that he'd ever, you know, loved before, seeing how far he'd fallen."

Revan looked up at him, her eyes full of sorrow and pain. "_I_ have fallen that far, too, Carth. I... I may fall that far again," she said in a small voice, as she hunched in on herself again. "It... it frightens me terribly to know that... that _our_ relationship could end up as badly broken as mine and Malak's." She hid her face again in her knees, so that only her eyes were showing, a stricken look growing in them as she regarded him.

Carth leaned his forehead down against hers as he put his arms on either side of her with his weight resting on his hands. He was incredibly touched she had admitted her fears to him; she didn't confess to fear often. Only three or four times that he could remember. She wasn't hiding anything from him anymore; she was laying bare her soul right now.

"I don't think that'll happen," he said reassuringly. "Not if both of us work at it. You know better now, you know that any Jedi can fall, no matter how powerful or good, even you."

"Especially me, I think. I hope I die first before I hurt you or anyone so badly as I had Malak, ever again," she whispered, looking right through him.

Carth wrapped his arms around her and clutched her to his chest convulsively. Her eyes... her eyes hadn't looked quite sane as she'd said that. "Shh. Don't say that. I won't let that happen," he said fiercely. "Shh," he murmured, stroking her hair and back soothingly. She shuddered and trembled in his arms as she grasped his tunic in bunches in her hands.

He held her tightly until he felt her relax and become calmer. He leaned back and looked down at her pensive face. "So... what _do_ you remember, anyway, about what you and Malak did?" he asked quietly. "How do you know?"

Revan screwed her eyes tight and sighed as she frowned. "I saw... fragments, when I confronted him on the Star Forge, and on the... _Leviathan_." She opened her eyes, looked up at him through her eyelashes and bit her lip, as if she were afraid of his reaction to the reminder.

Carth sucked in a deep breath of the air, of her scent and held it before exhaling, his breath ruffling the bangs on her forehead. "Okay. Go on," he said as calmly as he could, pushing aside those ugly memories.

Revan took her own deep breath before continuing. "I saw... scenes. Sometimes they move, sometimes it's like a, a still frame of a holo. I... I remember hitting Malak with a mud pie. He looked about ten or so," she said, biting her lip again on an incipient smile of nostalgia. "I, I think I was about, um... eight?"

Carth couldn't help but twitch his lips up at the mental image of an eight-year-old Revan, covered in mud. She must've looked incredibly adorable; he could easily imagine her eyes bright and merry in a mischievous, dirty face, a mud pie clutched in two grubby, sticky hands.

Her smile faded and her face turned sad. "We were... we were like brother and sister to each other. Closer, maybe, than twins. I knew his thoughts and he knew mine, and we hid nothing from each other. We shared everything from lightsaber crystals to our deepest fears." She clapped her hands to her forehead as if it were hurting, as if the memories were painful, or as if she were trying to stem the tide of recollection.

Carth pushed aside the petty jealousy that swirled up at hearing of the openness Revan had had in her relationship with Malak. She'd shared everything with Malak; why hadn't she shared what'd happened between her and Dustil with _him_? He took a firm grip on himself. Revan had grown up with Malak and had known him for years, while she'd only been with Carth for months; his relationship with Revan had only just begun by comparison.

He was a little hurt that she hadn't told him about these flashbacks of hers, though.

Revan caught the look on his face. "I was going to tell you, Carth, but I... I guess I didn't have the courage yet."

"You should know by now that you can tell me anything," Carth said emphatically. "As long as it's the truth, I'll want to hear it, no matter how bad it is."

"My memories of Malak-of the past-aren't so much bad as... painful," Revan confessed. "So many broken pieces, so scattered, not many of them make sense. And... I can't imagine you'd want to hear me talk about him."

"Malak was your... friend, and however much it makes me uncomfortable to hear it, he was a part of you," Carth said, thoughtfully twining a lock of her hair around a finger. "And I want to know all about you. Even the bad parts. If you're not ready, I'll be here when you are."

Revan looked uncertain, the expression making her look vulnerable. "I'm afraid of losing you-your good opinion, once you've seen..." She looked away. "I suppose it's silly to fear that when I've done so much to hurt you already."

"Revan... that's all in the past." Carth lifted her chin. "Revan, I know you're not perfect, but neither am I," he said. "I'm not the best of men, Force knows-"

"You're practically a saint compared to me," Revan interrupted him wryly, an ambivalent, ironic smile on her face.

"Heh, a saint wouldn't threaten to spank you," Carth said, smirking.

"You never did go through with that threat-or was it a promise?" she mused.

Carth's smirk widened. "That offer's still good, you know." He sobered. "You listened to me when I talked to you, and you never judged me. I'll be here, if you need to unload anything. And you don't have to tell me right now, if this is hurting you," he said softly, as his thumb brushed against her cheekbone in soothing circles.

Revan breathed in a shuddering inhalation and shook her head. "No. No, I... I have to. I haven't told anyone else what I saw, what I remember. I want you to understand why I'm, why I'm scared. And I'm afraid I might not even know, myself, until I say it."

Fisting a hand in her hair, Revan sighed. "I don't even know how our feelings, what we shared, our relationship started to go wrong. I don't know how I can remember laughing and having fun with Malak, and also remember him staring at me with nothing but contempt and hate in his eyes. I don't know what could've happened, what I could've done to hurt Malak so much that he tried to kill me. He, he was my brother, my best friend..." her voice dropped to a pained whisper, "...and, and I had to kill him."

Carth couldn't think of anything to say as he watched her face grow pale and drawn, her skin looking gray underneath the dye. She hadn't been this distressed after the Star Forge... It might be combat shock; he'd seen soldiers who'd stayed calm immediately after traumatic events, then react like this, even after months had passed.

With some alarm, he realized Revan was breathing fast and shallowly, almost hyperventilating, and her skin felt sweaty and clammy to the touch. He moved his hand to take her pulse, to find her heartbeat racing. She wrenched herself away from him suddenly, nearly throwing him off the couch, and ran-stumbled-blindly with none of her usual grace from him with something that looked like panic on her face. He caught up with her when she fell to her knees in the bedroom, cowering away from him against the corner of the bed when he touched her hesitantly. Her eyes were blank and staring, seeing nothing in the here and now, but rather the all-too-recent past.

Dropping hastily down on the floor, he gathered her into his arms and held her closely when she started to cry, and rubbed her back as she shook with body-wracking sobs. He held her while she shook with the memories, reliving the past, knowing he could only comfort her while the flashback ran its course, and tell her it was in the past, and that she was safe now. She curled up in his lap, shaking. He used to hold Dustil like this, when he'd been a young and scared little boy.

He rocked her gently back and forth. Even without the number the Jedi Council had done on her mind, she would've had an episode, sooner or later. She'd seen too much, been through too much.

Hot tears scalded his neck as she clung to him, and he murmured calming endearments into her ear, his fingers stroking through her hair. "Sh, Revan, you're safe, you're safe, I'm here, no one's going to hurt you," he repeated, over and over. She had to be remembering that hellish time they'd had on the Star Forge, as he remembered now.

_ Carth and Jolee finally reached a huge door that dominated the end of a wide ramp, wide enough for a dozen Sith troopers marching abreast. The shaking booms sounded much, much fainter here, and there were no other sounds except for a subtle hum that Carth felt more than heard, reminiscent of a quiescent starship in dock. _

_ It was quiet, here in the heart of the Star Forge. _

_ "Jolee, are you sure she's here?" Carth asked dubiously, once he'd caught his breath. A battle between Malak and his former Master couldn't be silent, surely. He gripped a sword hilt as he sighed in frustration. _

_ Jolee was glaring irritably at a panel on the door, and slapped at the keys with no discernible result. "Make yourself useful, sonny, and see if you can't open this damned thing. I know what I know, dammit, and I know Revan's just on the other side of this blasted blast door!" he grumbled querulously. _

_ Carth went to a console nearby, probably used by the Sith guards Malak no doubt kept around for appearances. He didn't really expect to be able to elicit any information from it, having no passcode or access card, nor any sufficient amount of computer spikes, but the screen lit up at his touch. _

_ With a view into the chamber beyond. _

_ Carth's breath caught in his throat at the sight. It was a huge circular room, the entire upper half of which was taken up with huge observation viewscreens that showed an excellent view of the battle taking place overhead. There was a ramp that ran along the edge of it on the other side. Strange glowing upright tubes stood in clusters in different parts of the room. With dawning horror, Carth realized the floating objects held suspended in the tubes were humanoid bodies. His skin crawled and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled at the sight. Then he spotted her. _

_ His hands spasmed, where he had them gripped tightly on the edges of the console. There she was, dressed in those strange white, voluminous robes, the only spot of color besides the glowing tubes in that dark, cavernous place. _

_ Carth's chest constricted when he realized they must've arrived only minutes after she had, because she wasn't yet locked in mortal combat with Malak, who stood at the other end of the chamber, back shown contemptuously to Revan. Then Malak spun around, the black cloak dangling from one shoulder swirling around elegantly, sinisterly with the motion, when Revan was within speaking distance. Malak must be speaking, because Carth could see Malak's facial muscles moving above the large metal prosthesis covering the lower half of his face. _

_ He frantically groped around for the door controls-he had to get in there-but couldn't find the blasted things. What he did manage to find were the volume controls, as strange angular characters flowed across the screen in his scrabbling at the unfamiliar keys. _

_ "Jolee," Carth called in a strangled voice. _

_ "-stronger than you ever were during your reign as the Dark Lord. I did not think that was possible," boomed Malak's deep metallic voice from the console, his voice synthesizer making his words reverberate oddly. _

_ Carth couldn't make heads or tails of the angular script still flowing and blinking at the bottom of the screen. Jolee joined him, but judging from the ferocious frown on his face, Jolee couldn't read it either. Carth tried talking-cursing-at the console, like he'd seen Revan do in the Dantooine ruins, but this terminal was either locked down or offended at his choice of vocabulary-words he tried to never use in Revan's or any other woman's hearing. She'd probably be impressed by the length and breadth of his knowledge. No receptacle slid out meekly to accept his datapad. Damn! _

_ "Damn!" Carth growled. "Jolee, can't you do something?" he pleaded, turning to the Jedi. _

_ Jolee shook his head. "Revan was the one who understood the Rakatan language, Carth, not me. Can't slice what I can't read. All _I_ can do is kick it and stub my toe, or blow it up. Neither of which would help." He sighed, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Looks like you and me are being given front row tickets to the once-in-a-lifetime showdown of a generation." He shrugged. "Might as well pull up a bin and catch our breaths." _

_ Carth glared at the elderly Jedi, then glared at the recalcitrant console. "Damn it all to hell," he muttered. Why did the Force insist on putting him in situations where he was helpless to do anything? He returned his attention to the screen. _

_ "You weep, Revan," Malak said, disgust and contempt dripping from his artificially-produced voice. "Why, besides showing me just how weak and pathetic you are? Whom do you weep for?" _

_ Was Revan crying? Carth thought. The camera only showed him her back; Malak, on the other hand, was quite visible, looming over Revan by more than a head. _

_ "You," Revan said, her voice dead even and steady, only slightly hoarse. _

_ Surprise leaked into Malak's voice. "Me?" he asked, visibly taken aback and astonished. What was left of his face hardened. "Why?" he barked harshly. _

_ "For what we had together. For what I had with you. For what I destroyed," Revan said relentlessly. A pause, then she said, "I'm sorry." _

_ "Sorry. You're... sorry," Malak repeated in faint disbelief. "Are you also sorry for this?" he asked, running one large hand across the smooth metal surface of his prosthesis. "Do you remember why you did it, and how?" he asked brutally, facial muscles moving in a cold sneer. _

_ Revan's shoulders shook in a shudder. Carth barely heard her answer, even leaning as closely to the screen as he was. _

_ "Yes," she answered, her head lowered. _

_ "My little sister, all grown up," Malak said in a mocking singsong, made all the more horrible by the odd reverberations in his synthetic voice. _

_ "Sister...?" Carth repeated in a rapt daze. He glanced up at Jolee, who had an equally mesmerized look on his face. "They weren't really... I, I mean, they don't look-t-they can't be!" he stammered in shock. _

_ Jolee shook his head, eyes glued to the screen. "They weren't related by blood, Carth, if that's what you're asking. They had deeper ties than that, bonds of the mind and heart. Some bonds can't be broken... but some can be broken beyond any hope of repair," he said sadly. _

_ Malak circled around Revan, looking her up and down as if she were a prize bantha on the block. Revan turned to face him warily. Carth caught a glimpse of her face before Malak obscured her with his bulk; it was weary, eyes in dark circles, blood and dirt-smeared, tear tracks making two clean trails through the grime. _

_ "I wanted us to be more than just brother and sister, did you know?" Malak asked, his hollow voice lashing out to cut the silence. _

_ Revan nodded mutely. _

_ Carth's hands cramped on the console. _

_ "But you said you did not feel the same for me, that you only felt friendship and sisterly love for your big brother. I watched, helpless as a parade of men, and the occasional woman, came to your bed, while _I_ stewed in my jealousy, not allowed to share it. You still refused me, even after we returned as Sith, and had thrown off the shackles the Jedi had imposed on our wills and powers. And still I _loved_ you," he spat the word, "even if you didn't love me. Not in that way." _

_ Carth's knuckles and fingers hurt from gripping the console so tightly. He wasn't surprised, really, that Revan had had lovers, or even that she'd had many lovers. She was a beautiful, charismatic woman, after all, and a powerful Jedi. He couldn't have been the only one who'd been drawn to her fire and personality, and her willingness to defy the Council to fight in the Mandalorian Wars had shown she was an... adventurer in all ways. Still, having it said so baldly was... a shock. _

_ "Until, of course, the day you opened my eyes to my foolishness. To my _weakness_. Let me remind you, Revan, seeing as how your memories are less than intact." Malak stopped circling her, and touched his prosthesis again. "You took your lightsaber and severed my jaw. It landed at my feet, a surgical strike I would've been most proud of-if I hadn't been trying to scream in pain, of course. All for disobeying your orders. And my humiliation would not have been complete had it not also been done in front of a full general staff meeting of all your generals and admirals, all the best and brightest stars of our fleet." _

_ "I'm sorry," was Revan's only reply to this unexpected outpouring of old pain from the Dark Lord. _

_ "The time for apologies is _over_," Malak snarled. He ignited his lightsaber, and his pale face was bathed in blood red light. _

_ "It doesn't have to be this way," Revan said, making no move to activate her own lightsabers. "Your fleet is in shambles, Malak. The Republic has won and the Star Forge is going to be destroyed." _

_ Carth leaned towards the vidscreen. _No, no, don't do it, Revan! You can't save him, he doesn't want to be saved! Don't kill yourself, giving him an opening like that!

_ "Oh, it's a lost cause, lass, but you wouldn't be you if you didn't at least try, would you?" Jolee murmured sadly beside Carth, as if he were talking to himself. _

_ Malak laughed harshly. "What, shall I return with you to the Jedi Council, two whipped kath hounds to be brought to heel, and made to obey their will? Like you?" _

_ "Are you too afraid, then, Malak?" Revan asked quietly. "Do you not have the courage to turn back from the Dark Side?" _

_ "Why should I, when the Light Side smacks of weakness? To bow back down before the Council's will, _that_ is cowardice!" Malak snarled venomously. He waved a hand at Revan. "I look at you, and I am _disgusted_. You were the Dark Lord of the Sith, and the galaxy was ours for the taking! Now you are once again the Jedi Council's lapdog, leashed to their will, at their beck and call when they snap their fingers. They hide behind their sanctimonious preachings. Once you had the courage to break their rules, and freed yourself from their shackles-now you wear them again proudly! And you dare to preach to _me_ about courage?" _

_ Revan shook her head heavily. "The Dark Side has its own shackles, Malak. The Force does not set you free-only _you_ can set yourself free. You condemn yourself to a life of emptiness on this path. Didn't my fate at least teach you that?" _

_ Malak tossed his cloak over his shoulder angrily. "I was empty long before I ever fell, Revan. Now, at least, I have my hate to keep me company at night." _

_ Revan's hands curled into fists. "I loved you, Malak, I loved you as a brother. We were closer than twins-how could you say that?" _

_ "That was exactly the problem. I was your big _brother_. Nothing _more_," Malak said bitterly. He cocked his head at her. "You love that Republic soldier, don't you? The one Saul Karath tortured before he died," he asked suddenly. _

_ Carth ground his teeth together. How dare Malak drag what he had with Revan out like this and use it like it was some kind of, of _weapon

_ Revan's back straightened. "What if I do, Malak? He is far from your reach; you cannot hurt him." _

Not as far as you think, beautiful, but not nearly close enough, dammit.

_ "Ah, but if I kill you, I _will_ hurt him," Malak said musingly, then shook his head. "But I won't kill you... you are too useful for me to kill. Perhaps I shall capture him and show him what I will do to you before I kill him." _

Not if I kill _you_ first, _ Carth promised silently. _

_ Revan shook her head slowly, sadly. "You are not what you once were, Malak. I'm sorry for that. But I'm not what I once was, either. You won't find me so easy to kill this time without a capital ship turbolaser." _

_ Malak growled at her implication. "I do not need a capital ship turbolaser. I can crush you now! You are a weak and pathetic _fool_, Revan. _I_ am not. I am the Dark Lord of the Sith. This ends here and now, and only one of us will walk away from this final duel. You are strong, Revan, but _I_ am stronger!" _

She didn't lose control like this very often. Carth knew she really was terrified that she might repeat the history she'd had with Malak with their relationship. He didn't know how long they sat there like that, but eventually she stopped crying, and she sat limply in his arms.

"Revan, shh," he murmured, trying to comfort her. "I think you're afraid because you've never been in love with anyone else before, am I right?" he asked, when she had calmed down again, and sat quietly in his lap. He gently brushed the tears away from her cheeks with his fingers and kissed her closed eyelids.

She opened red-rimmed, puffy eyes to look up at him. "I... I suppose I haven't, no," she said, her voice hoarse. "I, I can't remember ever being in such a relationship. Not from my false memories, nor from what real pieces I can remember, and I don't remember reading anything in the records about it. I think, um, I think my lovers, real or imagined, were more for... physical gratification rather than love." She scrubbed at her face with a hand.

Carth held her face between his hands, and brushed his thumbs on the tear tracks on her cheeks. "I think I understand now," he said, looking into her reddened eyes. "You don't have any experience with something like this."

Revan stared up at him, and her mouth opened and closed silently. "I... I suppose I'm not," she conceded.

He leaned his forehead against hers. "Revan, you've been trying to control everything so that you won't hurt anyone. But I'm not something you can control, and neither is Dustil."

She jerked back from him in startlement, but he pulled her back against him. "Is... is that what... but, but I never... I never meant to," she said, looking horrified.

"I know, you never wanted to hurt me," Carth said. He took her cool hands in his. "But you have to understand that, no matter how much you try to control things, if they can't or won't be controlled, it won't make things better. I'll still be hurt. So tell me everything, no matter how painful it is, and let _me_ decide if I'm hurt or not, okay? You're not a god, Revan, you can't, you can't _manipulate_ things so that everyone is happy. Happiness doesn't work that way."

Revan nodded wordlessly, not looking at him, and her hair fell forward to hide her face. He let go of her hands and cupped her face again. "I'm sorry," she whispered, when he tilted her face back up. "I'm so sorry."

Carth brushed the hair out of her distraught face. "Alright, shh, you've apologized enough," he said gently. He decided not to joke about it, as he would have at some other time. "As long as you stop trying to control things to suit yourself, and learn not to hide things from me." He kissed her on her brow, and his thumbs caressed her cheeks as he looked straight into her eyes.

"You have to learn to trust _me_, too, and I don't mean just watching my back in a fight. We're in this together, you and I, and, and, well, I hope it's for the long haul. If we're going to be living together this closely,"-he took a hand from her face and twined his fingers with hers to illustrate just how close-"for the rest of our lives, there can't be any secrets or, or lies between us, or it just won't work." He stared earnestly down into her eyes. "I want this to work. Do _you_ want this to work?"

Revan closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "Yes. Yes, I do," she said, hoarsely but firmly. "If you can put up with me," she added, uncertainty lurking in her eyes.

Carth lowered his head and kissed her. Her lips tasted of salty tears, and her mouth of mint, cool and exquisite on his tongue. "If you can put up with me and my paranoia, I think I can put up with you," he murmured against her cheek, his lips tilting up in a wry smile.

She didn't say anything, just buried her face in his chest and hugged him fit to crack his ribs. He rested his chin on top of her head, inhaling her fragrance hungrily, and hugged her back just as tightly.

* * *

I'm still alive! My goodness, it's been nearly a month since I updated! Sorry for the wait, folks. I actually had this chapter almost finished weeks ago, but my evil twin, Prisoner 24601, wanted, ahem, more action of a sort, so I had to work on that. Then KoTOR2 came out, and, suffice to say, I was sucked in like a ship into a black hole. And work's been crazy.

This chapter was originally nearly 30k words long, and only just shrunk to about 28 or 29k, so I had to chop it into two. Hopefully, 57 will be out on time, next week. I'm still working on the, ah, action.

With thanks to Prisoner 24601 and Nyv for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback, especially Prisoner 24601. I think this chapter became better for her feedback and generally kicking my ass (well, genteelly prodding buttock, maybe).

Lunatic Pandora1: Nope, no rest for Carth, as you'll see next chapter... Ahem. And sorry for the lack of action in 55, but it was an exposition/set-up chapter. I assure you, I was itching to write in some action, things and people getting shot up, but I reined myself in.

J: Thanks! I'm sorry you didn't like the Carthguyver stuff, because I had a lot of fun writing it. What didn't you like? I just had all these action scenes in my head that I had to get out onto paper before my head imploded, hence all those undercover chapters. And why do you have a crush on my Revan? You have a thing for dirty Mandalorian limericks? (Do I want that question answered? Eep.)

KabeXX: Thanks. Heh, here's the cliffhanger resolved. I'm glad you like Dustil, because he's really hard for me to get into, as I've no doubt complained about before. (Genial? I think your thesaurus is on the fritz. :o ) It's not that I don't like Canderous, it's just that so many people write him so well already (Tim Radley, Kosiah, Prisoner 24601, Winterfox, athenaprime) that I'm intimidated. I don't think I can do a good job writing him, and if I can't, I won't.

Josh: We'll see. :)

Rascarin: Thanks! And is a month later 'soon'?

VMorticia: I have no idea what a Kiffar is, actually, I just looked it up in the CUSWE. And 'fracking' is in the CUSWE, since I've not seen Battlestar Galactica in decades. I meant 'would', actually.

Feza's twin: Did I say Sith? Well, maybe. And blinded by hate... remind you of someone else we know:cough: Carth :cough:

Chani: Heh, thanks. 56 chapters isn't capitulating too early, is it? I am not, in fact, from South Africa (or do you mean South America?), and I used 'hey' because I didn't think 'eh' would go over very well. And here's more Carth!

Kosiah: Thanks! And you should enjoy this little flashback I put it. Originally it was in full, about 15k words, but Prisoner convinced me that it didn't fit, so you only get a crumb of what it was. And yes, Prisoner won the debate. People can live without spleens, yes, quite normally.

Menolly Onasi: I'm still writing this! And I will continue until I finish! Yes! Well, reunification is right here.

Prisoner 24601: The plot thickens, eh? Thanks for all your help. :) And, man, it's hard to write a teen romance thing. Really hard. I hope it all seems plausible.

snackfiend101: Er, very, very late this time... hope you enjoy this one as much.

Kazic: Heh, you should've heard me speculate on all the ways I could kill him in IRC... And I love reading all your guesses on who the traitor is. :D And thanks for enjoying!


	57. Doubts

**Chapter 57: Doubts**

Carth hugged Revan tightly, pressing his face to the top of her head. Talking about how things stood between them, and how he _wanted_ things to stand between them, had been harder than he'd thought, but easier than he'd feared.

"I love you, Revan. Never doubt that," Carth whispered into her hair. "But you have to stop taking these, these _insane_ risks with your life." He pulled away so that he could look at her face. "It's just... it's just that I don't know what I'd do without you. I really don't. That stunt you pulled on Dustil... it could so easily have gone the wrong way. If it had... it would've killed me, you know that?" His arms tightened convulsively around her. "No more of those tests, alright? Promise me that," he said softly, his head pressed against hers.

"Carth, it wasn't just me testing him," Revan said, shaking her head, her brow rubbing against his. "It was Dustil testing himself, too. A Jedi has to do that, everyday. If it's not me testing him, then it's his Master. And if it's not his Master, then himself, the Force, or the galaxy. Sure, I can stop testing him, but it's not up to me if he takes it or not. It's up to him."

Carth ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "You mean you can't stop it?" he said plaintively, not able to keep the anger out of his tone.

"If anything, Dustil's been testing _me_," Revan said tiredly.

Oh, _that_ he could believe. Carth didn't know if it was something Dustil had learned at the Sith Academy, or some sort of survival reflex, but Dustil could really get under a person's skin with the right - or wrong - words. That the listener might see a bit of truth in them only made them hurt worse.

_I gave up on you a long time ago. So did Mother, for that fact._ Carth still remembered how his heart had shriveled at those words.

"I've seen all I want to see, Carth. I don't need to test him anymore. Anymore tests he faces will not be from me, but remember a Jedi tests himself most vigorously, worse than anyone else can," Revan said seriously.

That was the most assurance she would give him, Carth knew. He didn't like it, but it was the best deal he was going to get.

Carth searched her face carefully, then sighed. "Alright," he said reluctantly, "I guess that'll just have to be good enough." _Although we're gonna talk about this some other time. This isn't over. Not by a long shot._ He fumbled in his tunic pockets, coming up with a handkerchief, which he used to gently wipe her face clean. She sat in his lap, meekly allowing him to wipe her tears away.

"I didn't mean it," Revan said suddenly.

"Didn't mean what?" Carth asked, startled and bemused by the seeming non sequitur.

Revan wrapped her arms around his waist and murmured into his chest, "The Jedi being right about forbidding love. I don't think they're right at all. Completely wrong, in fact."

It took Carth a moment to remember what she'd said when they had their fight a couple of days ago. "Oh. Uh, well, I didn't mean it, either." He drew her tightly against him and pressed his face against the top of her head. "I don't regret anything. At all." His voice was muffled by her hair.

Revan turned her head up to stare wonderingly at him. "I don't think you realize that that seems the most strangest thing of all to me."

"Is it really so strange?" Carth asked into her hair.

She stretched up and pressed to his lips a kiss as gentle as falling mist on Kashyyyk. "Yes," she breathed, bring her hands up to cup his face. "Strange... and wondrous. And I don't think I'll ever understand."

Carth leaned his forehead on hers. "You don't have to," he whispered. _And neither do I._

They held each other like that for a while, until Revan sniffed loudly.

Sniffling and wrinkling her nose, Revan asked perplexedly, "Carth, why do you smell like a walking cantina?"

"Oh, I captured one of the guys who came after me, dressed up like a policeman. I thought we'd attract less attention if people thought we were drunks," Carth explained. "He's in a box in Dustil's room right now." He'd forgotten about it completely. Giving her a dry look, he added, "You didn't tell me you'd already gotten one, otherwise I would've gotten chocolates for you instead."

"Ah, I'm afraid we don't have ours anymore," Revan said with a slight frown. "Someone killed him. To silence him, I think."

"Ah." Carth frowned, too. "Damn... that doesn't sound good." Awkwardly, because Revan was still sitting on his lap, he shuffled around and took off his stained jacket, tossing it over a chair. JC-01 would pick it up later and clean it. He still had his armor on under his regular clothes, so he felt overheated and looked a bit bulky.

"No, it's not," Revan agreed. "What's worse is that it happened on the shipyard, and whoever murdered him didn't leave a trace."

Carth raised his eyebrows. "Wait, you're telling me someone got through all that security and killed someone without leaving any clues at all? That's a pretty impressive feat. Was it this traitor or spy Dustil told me about?"

"That's the theory that seems to fit best," Revan replied worriedly.

"I've got a bad feeling about this, beautiful," Carth said glumly. He hated mysteries almost as much as he hated surprises.

Revan opened her hand palm up in silent agreement. Then she reached out to caress his neck, a cool fingertip slowly tracing the trim on his collar.

It was then that Carth remembered that the best part of a fight was making up afterwards. And it occurred to him that they were sitting rather conveniently next to a bed, and that Revan was sitting on his lap. It seemed perfectly natural for him to lower his head and nibble at her soft lips.

His conscience pointed out that they really shouldn't, that they really should talk about what had happened while he was away, and what they had learned.

On the other hand, the computer hadn't finished decrypting the files yet, and the pictures he'd taken were still being developed. Carth weighed that with the fact that a beautiful, willing woman was sitting on his lap, doing extremely distracting things merely with her finger, and who looked like she wanted to do a lot more with more than just her finger.

Duty warred with instinct, but Carth started losing the fight when Revan stretched herself against him and started pressing light little kisses on his lips. It would take a shriveled-up Jedi with shriveled-up parts to be able to resist something like that, and he was no Jedi, shriveled or not. He clenched his hands into fists and strived for control, even though he was extremely conscious of the way her body was pressing against him, even through his armor and tunic.

_Grab what little time you have while no one's trying to kill you, Onasi._

As he was wrestling with himself, the little growling noises she was making in the back of her throat while nibbling his jaw was driving him crazy. They had only a few precious hours left, and he was wasting whole minutes of them.

Carth threw his caution to the winds and grabbed Revan's head with both hands to hold her still, and kissed her hard, putting all his longing and need and love into it. The taste of her burst on his tongue, spices and mint and pure Revan, like some sort of uncut and undiluted spice drug. His hands slid from her face, one going to cup the back of her head, the other going to her waist, pressing her closer against him, as though trying to put everything that was himself into the kiss, or taking everything that was her into him.

When they both came up for air, Revan murmured huskily, "Did I tell you I missed you terribly?"

"No," Carth said a trifle breathlessly against her cheek. He kissed his way down her lips to her chin, nuzzling her neck, breathing deeply of her flowery perfume. He turned her around so that her back rested against his chest, and reached around her, brushing his fingers over the swell of her chest. His hands slid down to her slim waist slowly, palms slipping on the smooth fabric of her tunic until his fingers encountered the clasps holding her tunic closed.

"Do you know," Carth whispered into her ear, "how much I've missed you?"

"I don't know," Revan whispered back while he nibbled the back of her neck, strands of her hair tickling his nose. "Why don't you show me?" she suggested coyly.

"Oh, I intend to," he whispered into her other ear as he nipped at it, his hands slowly unfastening her tunic.

An unexpectedly rough texture on her left arm made him look down, and he stopped, staring at the fresh new scar. That had definitely not been there when he'd left two days ago.

"Mn, don't stop," Revan protested, tugging at his hands.

Carth fingered the long red mark on her arm. "What happened to your arm?" he asked, amorous intentions fading into worry. "What... who did this?" Had it been Dustil? The thought made his fingers tighten on her. Dammit, if Dustil had done it...

"What?" Revan turned to look at him, then at her arm. "Oh, that," she said dismissively.

"Yes, _that_. What happened?" Carth demanded, frowning first at her, then at the jagged scar.

"I just got hit with some debris, I'm okay," Revan assured him. "It'll fade soon." She looked hopeful. "I don't suppose we could continue... No?" She sighed gustily when he continued to frown at her.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about. What debris?" Carth persisted. "Just what have you been up to, anyway?"

Revan looked evasive. "Uh, well, when we were on the shipyard, someone tried to assassinate Lady Versenne by bringing the ceiling down on her."

"And what's that got to do with this?" Carth asked, pointing at her scar.

"Well, everything, because Dustil and I had been standing near her at the time," Revan said, tossing off the suspiciously offhand comment.

"_What?_" Carth lowered his voice when Revan winced. He turned her around, holding her by her upper arms. "You didn't tell me this before!" he said accusingly.

"I was going to, really, but, um, you distracted me," Revan said hastily.

Carth searched her face. Revan wouldn't lie to him, but he was finding that she could forget things rather selectively. His hands tightened on her arms at the thought that he could've lost her, and wouldn't even have known it.

"Um, there's something else you need to know..." Revan said hesitantly, biting her lip.

"What's that?" Carth asked warily.

"I wasn't the only one hurt," Revan said, the words dragged reluctantly from her.

Feeling baffled, Carth said, "Oh. Did the girl get hurt, too?"

"Who, Lady Versenne? Oh, yes, but she wasn't the one I meant," Revan said, looking down at her hands.

"Well, who, then?" Carth asked exasperatedly.

Revan took a deep breath, and Carth had to keep his attention on her face to avoid being distracted. "Dustil was hurt, too," she said in a small voice.

"Oh," Carth said. "Er, but he looks fine," he said, perplexed at her reaction. She looked guilty and a little scared. Revan... scared?

"Dustil was... Dustil pushed Lady Versenne out of the way, but in the process, both of them fell down into a crawlspace when the support pillar crashed into the floor." Revan twined her fingers together, then forcibly stilled her hands. She wouldn't look at him. "I used the Force to slow their fall, or it's likely both of them would've died, but Dustil was still badly injured," she visibly forced herself to say.

Carth's breath caught in his throat. But Dustil was fine, Revan had saved him. "Okay," he finally said, when he was sure his voice was under control. "So he saved the girl," he said, forcing a smile on his lips. "But he's fine now," he added, reassuring himself as much as Revan.

"Yeah," Revan agreed.

There was something she wasn't telling him, or was having trouble telling him. "But...?" Carth prompted, firmly tamping down his impatience.

Revan took another deep breath and spoke, the words tumbling over each other, "Dustil had some broken bones, and... he needed to have his spleen removed."

"_What!_" Carth couldn't suppress his yelp of shock in time. Revan flinched, drawing away from him, but he was still holding onto her arms, so she couldn't get very far. She dropped her eyes from his guiltily.

Carth took a deep breath and struggled for control. He reminded himself of the fact that Dustil was fine, that he was obviously recovered from whatever injuries he'd sustained. It was only his spleen, nothing really important. Carth tried not to think, _This time_. It was hardly Revan's fault that the ceiling had collapsed on them.

Revan was looking at him as though he were a mine she needed to disarm, and wasn't sure she'd gotten the right wires. And as if she were expecting him to explode.

"Okay," Carth said finally, when he was sure he had his voice under control. "You kept him from getting killed, right?" he said, trying to sound light. It came out rather flat, instead.

"Um." Revan still wouldn't look at him. He let go of her arm and forced her chin up.

"Is there something else?" Carth asked, looking into her eyes. _And do I want to know?_

Swallowing, Revan nodded, eyes skittering away from his. "I... I had time to do only one thing. You know how a Jedi can sometimes see the near future?"

"Yeah, I think so. Uh, you can see the future, but the farther you try to see, the more nebulous and murky it gets, right?" Carth said, trying to see where she was going with this.

"No, that's farseeing. Farsight is the more immediate version, a similar ability where I see what happens in the next few seconds. Well..." She hesitated, biting her lip, then forged on. "I saw several possible outcomes. The best outcome, where I used the Force to push everyone away, was wiped out when Dustil went after Lady Versenne. If I saved Dustil and the girl, the two other sentients with us would die. But if I used the Force to push the other two out of the way, Dustil and the girl would be hurt, but no one would die."

"So you saved everyone. That's good...?" Carth said, feeling a little bewildered.

"So the point is that I knew Dustil would be hurt, badly injured..." Revan couldn't seem to continue.

Carth felt like he'd been hit in the head by a speeding swoop as he stared aghast at Revan. "Y- you mean you _knew_ he'd be hurt?" he asked in disbelief.

Revan raked a hand through her hair and moved off his lap; he made no move to stop her. "I - yes," she said simply, bending to pick her tunic up from where he'd tossed it.

"How could you - I trusted you to protect him! Is this your idea of keeping him safe?" Carth snapped, running both his hands through his hair, his blood running cold at imagining all the disasters that could've happened to Dustil.

Shrugging on her tunic, Revan rose and padded over to the window, hands stuffed into her trouser pockets. "I know," she said quietly. Her shoulders slumped as she turned away from him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I failed you." She waved one of her hands helplessly in the air, groping for words. "I... I did what I thought was right in what little time I had."

Carth rubbed hard at his face and took a deep breath, holding it for a few beats before letting it trickle slowly out through his nostrils, doing it several times.

How could Revan have let Dustil get hurt? He'd _trusted_ her to look after Dustil, and she _deliberately_ let him get hurt? All thoughts of loveplay driven out of his mind, Carth sprang off the bed and paced, anger at his lover making him shake inside.

_But she'd done it to save lives_, said the practical part of his mind, but it was buried under the outrage and fear and anger of the part that yelled, _Dammit, to hell with those other people, I don't care about _them_, she should've saved my _son!

Carth halted in the middle of the room, gulping in deep breaths, not trusting himself to speak just yet, hands curled into tight fists.

Panic gripped him, thinking about all the injuries Dustil could've suffered. Broken bones, concussions, head injuries, internal injuries, crushed limbs... the list of bodily harm ran through his mind, given substantial substance from his experience in the wars. Dustil could've been worse than killed, he could've been paralyzed, blinded, turned into a drooling vegetable... Carth's knees buckled, and he collapsed to sit on the bed, mind reeling.

How many times had he seen that happen to the sentients under his command, visiting sickbay after a battle, seeing what cost his orders had wrought? What had been worse had been seeing who _wasn't_ there anymore. But those were soldiers, not his own flesh and blood. They'd known the risks going in, when they'd taken their oaths. Dustil was only sixteen, and had taken no such oaths.

_He's just a boy!_ cried the father in him, but the practical part countered harshly with, _No, he's a _man.

_Dustil does know the risks_, his head told him, while his heart was wailing, _But he's my son!_ Dustil had faced more harrowing experiences on Korriban in four years than most soldiers had seen in their entire careers.

Carth closed his eyes, latching onto the fact that Dustil was fine. _He's fine, he's fine, he's fine..._ Hadn't he just seen him? Argued with him? _You can't protect Dustil forever. And he doesn't want you to. He'd hate you for even trying._

The fear of a parent for his child shook him. _Oh, my poor, proud, cocksure son._ Carth put his head in his hands. There were so many evils and dangers in the galaxy for a normal, average person; how much more so was that for a Jedi? And what could one middle-aged soldier do to protect his son from them? _Sure as hell not fighting in another war. I don't think I can last another one._

There was a rustle, and Carth opened his eyes to see Revan kneeling before him, looking up into his face worriedly. "Carth?" she said uncertainly, hesitantly putting a hand on his knee.

Revan reached up with her other hand and tentatively stroked his cheek lightly with her fingers. "You know I'd die for your son, too," she whispered.

He looked down involuntarily at the hook-shaped scar on her belly, just under her ribcage, visible because she hadn't refastened her tunic. The horrible sound of the sword slipping into her stomach that night at the spaceport came back to him in all its damning clarity. Carth reached down and pulled her against him.

"I know. But I'd rather have you live for me, and for him, instead," Carth said into her hair, taking a shuddering breath of her scent. "You were... you were just doing your best. For everyone."

Revan pulled back slightly and looked into his eyes. "You... understand?" she said, sounding as though she didn't quite believe him.

"It... it was a hell of a decision to make. I've made those sorts of decisions before, too, but I don't think I could've done it," Carth said honestly. "I would've grabbed Dustil and said to hell with anyone else. But... I'm not a Jedi. You are. You... you've got wider responsibilities than that."

"I'm... I'm glad you understand," Revan said softly, a touch of wonder in her eyes. Her muscles relaxed under his hands, and he realized she'd been tensely awaiting his reaction.

"I wish I could've had that farsight of yours in the wars, would've saved me a lot of second- guessing afterwards," Carth said, changing the subject.

"Having farsight doesn't mean I didn't second-guess myself, too." Revan shook her head. "I've been thinking about how you'd react to this for the past day and a half."

He sighed, reaching out to touch her cheek. "Being Dustil's father means I'm a bit biased when it comes to him, beautiful. You have to be impartial. I, I don't like it, but I... I understand it." He sighed again, his breath stirring strands of her hair. "I, I just wish Dustil would be safe."

"Me, too," Revan agreed. "You know, I offered him a chance to back out before we ever got on the shipyard, and he wouldn't take it," she offered.

Pride warred with a parent's trepidation and worry. Pride won by a slight margin. "That's my boy... although the pretty girl might've had something to do with it," Carth said with a lopsided grin.

"Probably. I wonder how many heroic acts recorded in history were done to impress someone," Revan mused.

"We may never know. How... how badly was he hurt, really?" Carth asked anxiously. "He's... he's okay now, right? No complications?"

Revan nodded. "He's fine now. He had some broken ribs, and he broke his right arm in several places, and his spleen had ruptured when he hit the bottom after his fall, so they had to take it out. I put him into a healing trance, so he doesn't even have any scars."

Carth blew out his breath at hearing this litany of Dustil's hurts. _If I'd been there, I could've... could've..._ He could've done _something_, dammit. Or maybe not. Revan would've had yet another life to take care of, and who knows how the future would've split then? That Revan would willingly sacrifice herself to save him and Dustil, Carth had no doubt. What if she'd been forced to choose between saving him or Dustil? Carth hoped that was a decision she would never have to make. His arms tightened around her and he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

"I just hate knowing that I couldn't do anything," Carth mumbled into her skin. _I could've lost Dustil, I could've lost my son... I could've lost you..._ The thought was far more frightening than anything he'd encountered in House Boro.

"Knowing you _could_ do something but can't is hard, too," Revan whispered, her breath tickling the back of his neck. She sounded so weary Carth straightened, looking at her in concern.

Revan looked completely drained and very tired. Carth could only imagine how hard she'd been holding her temper in his son's company. "It's... it's hard, Carth. And yet necessary," she admitted.

Carth nodded resigned understanding. Dustil still had so much anger and hate in him, feelings and emotions tied to his father and Revan, to his mother and Telos, that Dustil stood in some kind of limbo: Dustil had rejected the Sith teachings, but four years of indoctrination didn't just go away, and yet he was still too undisciplined, too hindered by those negative emotions he'd been taught to nourish to be a Jedi.

Saying it was hard was a vast understatement.

"I knew it wouldn't be easy," Carth sighed. He took her hands. "But we _are_ making progress." A hard, bitter fight for every inch of territory, it sometimes felt like. But worthwhile. Worth fighting for.

"So, like all journeys, it's not the journey's end that's important, but the journey itself. And what we learn on it." Revan closed her eyes and slumped tiredly. "I wish it wasn't so hard, though."

"Yeah," Carth agreed ruefully. "We both learned a lot, finding the Star Forge. Who's to say we won't learn some more on this trip?"

"Carth... not all the things we learned were pleasant," Revan said in a small voice.

Carth pressed his forehead to hers. "But not all of the things we learned were _un_pleasant, either."

"No, not all the things we learned were unpleasant," Revan agreed, smiling crookedly.

Maybe it was time to relearn them. Carth kissed her forehead, then kissed her on the lips, sliding his hands from her cheeks to her neck and pushing her tunic off her shoulders again.

As his hand moved over her thigh, he encountered another raised roughness on her leg. Looking down, Carth saw another long, jagged scar that matched the fresh one on her arm. He fingered it carefully. "Is this...?" he asked.

Revan nodded. "It's okay, really," she assured him.

"I wish I could've been there to protect you," Carth admitted. _Both of you._

"You were, and you are, Carth," Revan said softly. "Not all dangers and hurtful things are of the physical variety, hey?" She kissed his cheek lightly.

Words could hurt worse than any physical pain, Carth had cause to know.

Things were going really, really well, until Carth realized that things were going a little one-way.

A thought was trying to percolate through his mind, but it was having to fight against some very pleasurable sensations. Eventually, however, it penetrated through the fog. Carth scraped his wits and mind back together long enough to say, "R-revan, Revan, wait..."

"Dammit, Carth, just shut up and enjoy this," Revan growled.

Carth tried again. "No, wait, just h-hold on a minute -"

"I'm holding on to something, but it's definitely not a minute," Revan said with a smirk.

"Revan..." Carth reached down and took her hands before she could distract him any further.

Revan actually growled frustration. "You talk too much, Onasi. Am I going to have to tie you up?" she asked crossly.

That got a laugh out of him. "Kinky," Carth remarked with a smirk. "You want to? But I gotta tell you, I'm already at your mercy."

"And a gag," Revan continued, eyes narrowing to brilliant slits, not mollified. She tilted her head to one side, considering him. "Definitely a gag. Would you prefer silk ropes or the more functional handcuffs, sir? Maybe something in leather?" she said mockingly, her tone that of an eager salesperson helpfully offering all the options.

"Aw, you know it's a lot more fun if I've got my hands free, gorgeous." Carth took her hands again and pulled her down; she resisted, reluctantly settling against his chest.

"Now," Carth said, his mind working a little bit more clearly now that she wasn't nibbling and kissing and suckling it away, "why don't you tell me why you're not letting me touch you."

Revan looked confused. "Er, but you _are_ touching me, Carth." Her glance raked up and down their bodies, where she lay half on and half off him, indicating the extent of just how much he was touching her.

Carth shook his head. "Every time I try to touch you, you always move away. Why?" he asked softly. He frowned, wondering if someone had... had someone tried to force her? Anger rose up at this imagined assailant, until common sense intervened. Revan didn't need to resort to anything so crude as physical violence to steer away importunate sentients, she could talk her way out of it. If words didn't suffice, then she could use the Force. And he couldn't imagine that even Dustil would just stand by and let Revan suffer that, so if it wasn't that...

Still frowning in confusion, Revan admitted, "I don't understand."

"So far, you've only touched me," Carth explained. "You haven't let me make love to you." He added hastily, "Not that I'm complaining."

"But I've got a lot to make up for, Carth. You'll just have to wait your turn," Revan murmured, turning her face into his chest.

She was distracting him, but Carth was not about to be deterred. He cupped her face with his hands, stopping her.

"Dammit, Carth, can't we leave the philosophical discussion for later?" Revan said testily. "Preferably when we're both so tired and exhausted we go to sleep?"

Chuckling, Carth shook his head. Revan's look of annoyance deepened, and she tried to sit up. He wrapped both arms around her. "Oh, no, you don't, you're not going anywhere, beautiful."

The glint in her eye told him he'd better talk fast. Carth grinned, thinking of how fun it would be to catch her again if she tried to break the admittedly flimsy hold he had on her, but then he sobered. "Revan, you don't have anything to make up for." He pulled her back down, until she was lying on top of him again, hands locked behind her back to keep her there. That she felt wonderful against his bare skin was just a really nice bonus.

"Don't I?" Revan asked, fingers idly tugging at the two locks of hair that fell onto his forehead. "I'd say I've got lots to make up for." She tried to give him a dry look, but it was undermined a bit by the passion in her eyes. "And if a certain paranoid pilot would just shut up, I could get started on it."

"Revan, you don't have to do that," Carth said, shaking his head. "I just want to make love to you, and I want you to make love to me, because we love each other." He took a deep breath, knowing she wouldn't like hearing his next words, and said quickly, "I'm not here for you to expiate your sins on me."

Revan stiffened in his arms, her warm, yielding body turning into something like durasteel. "You think that's what I'm doing?" she said in a tone so neutral, it made Carth wince.

"Revan..." Carth groped desperately for the right words. "Look, I didn't mean to insult you, but I -" Her flat eyes were making the words turn to dust in his mouth. "Revan, I-I know you feel guilty about things, and I wish you wouldn't," he began. "You don't have to do this to make up for that stuff."

"Has it occurred to you that I might enjoy it? That I take as much pleasure in seeing you enjoy it, too?" Revan said, still in that careful, neutral voice.

It was never good when Revan sounded like that. Carth had heard her sentence two men for murder on Dantooine with that voice, deliberately give the wrong artifact to a would-be Sith, and trap a witness with his own testimony on Manaan with it.

"Revan, I think I know you well enough to know that that's not all there is to it," he said quietly, refusing to be intimidated by her silence.

Except that her silence could be really intimidating. Good diplomats knew how to use words. _Really_ good diplomats knew how to use silence, too, and Revan could wield silence as skillfully as her lightsabers.

Revan just looked at him with those unreadable eyes, but at least she hadn't tried to move away. That meant she was listening. Well, that and probably because he still had his arms around her slim waist. But she also knew he'd let go if she asked. She didn't ask. He tried to take that as an encouraging sign.

Carth took a breath, for courage and for time. "Revan, I know you want to please me, but remember what I said about equal partnerships? There's no room in those for stuff like guilt. Not for long."

"What makes you think I'm feeling guilty?" A little confusion and puzzlement leaked into her voice, and a little hurt. It made her sound more human, and less stiff and unapproachable.

"You've only been telling me that for the last couple of hours, beautiful." Carth dared to unwind one arm to reach up and brush a loose tendril of hair out of her face. She didn't move away, just looked at him with hurt in her eyes, which was worse than the unreadable neutrality she wore before.

He forged on. "I don't want this to be about guilt. He held her cheek, his thumb caressing the graceful curve of her eyebrow and her cheek. "I want this to be about us. Just... the two of us, no guilt," - he smiled wryly - "no paranoia, just love and, and trust."

"But I do trust you, Carth," Revan said, still looking confused and even more hurt. "You... you don't trust me?"

"I do," Carth said emphatically, cursing his inability to find the right words. That most of his blood had rushed to a place that was not his brain didn't help any. "What I mean is- Look, when all's said and done, I trusted you enough to leave you alone with my son, right? Even when I was so mad at you I couldn't even spit."

Revan winced. Maybe that had been the wrong thing to say, but he couldn't go back; he could only go forward. He took another deep breath. "I was hurt that _you_ didn't trust _me_ enough to be told my own son had tried to kill you. Okay, and so we talked about it... Let's move on from there, okay?"

Tilting her head quizzically, she asked, "What makes you think I'm bringing more than just myself into this?" Strands of her hair slid down from her motion to fall onto his chest.

"Because you've been driving me crazy, but you haven't let me do the same to you. I don't think you've even been aware of it, but I have," he whispered into her ear.

He leaned back to look into her eyes. "I want to make love to _you_, Revan. Just me, Carth Onasi, humble pilot and simple soldier, and you, a beautiful, crazy, stubborn, troublemaking Jedi. Not, not your guilt. The past... the past is just that: past."

"I see... I think," Revan murmured thoughtfully. "A _humble_ pilot and _simple_ soldier, huh?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Carth found his voice. "Yep. That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it."

Things went a lot better after that. Carth was content to just lie there afterwards, his limbs tangled with Revan's.

"Love you, Carth," Revan whispered against his lips.

His lips curled up at the corners in a bemused smile. "Love you, too, you crazy, infuriating woman," he answered. Her throaty chuckle vibrated into his chest.

Carth ran a hand down her arm, fingertips lingering on her scars. The memory of her episode earlier came back to him as he looked at the pale lines. _I should say something about them..._ He licked his lips, trying to think of the best way to pose the question, but couldn't think of any way to say it any more diplomatically. "Revan..." he began tentatively.

Revan looked up at him, head tilted quizzically.

Carth took a deep breath and took the plunge. "Revan... is this the first time you've had a flashback?" he asked.

Revan turned her face into his chest, which was an answer of a sort. She shook her head wordlessly, strands of her hair falling to hide her face.

Although Carth understood her reluctance completely, he knew he couldn't help her in this. "Revan. Promise me you'll talk to Jolee about it when we get back," he said, tilting her face up with a finger under her chin.

She shrank away from him. "You... you think I should?" she asked in a small voice.

Carth ducked his head down to look her in the face. "Yes. I know when I'm out of my depth, and I'm way out of my depth here, so far I can't even see the shore."

Revan didn't answer, still as an iriaz caught in sudden bright light, and as frightened as one. Carth couldn't really blame her for being afraid, but she needed help of the sort he couldn't give her. He turned her arm, tracing a pale, thin scar that started from her elbow and tapered to her wrist, remembering the time she'd deliberately hurt herself in the exercise room.

He touched her cheek, and she turned her head to look up at him, wide eyes full of fear. "I won't let them hurt you. I won't. But... at least tell Jolee. The old man knows how to keep his mouth shut. Have you told him?"

"Some. Not all," she admitted in a whisper, shaking her head, her hair slapping softly against his hand.

"Tell him the rest. Please. I, I shouldn't be the only one who knows about this," Carth said quietly. "Think about it, at least. Take it from a soldier who's seen a lot of terrible things... sometimes you need to get it all off your chest. I just hope whoever it is isn't as tenacious as you are," he added, trying to keep his tone light. He succeeded in winning a very small smile from her.

"You know, sometimes I think this is all a dream," Revan murmured after a few moments, turning her head so that her hair fell in a concealing curtain, hiding her face.

Brushing the tendrils away, Carth looked down into her eyes. "I know what you mean," he said, lightly tracing the curve of her eyebrow and cheek with his thumb.

"I... don't think you do. Not in the way I mean," Revan said, closing her eyes and leaning into his caress.

"What do you mean, then?" Carth asked, running his thumb over her petal-soft lips. They brushed against his fingers as she spoke.

"Sometimes... sometimes I think it's a wonderful, fantastic dream, but soon I'll wake up... or you will. And then it will break, forgotten come the morning, a fading memory of something that never was." Revan pressed his hand to her face with both of hers.

Carth brought his other hand up to cup her other cheek. "I don't think something like this can be broken so easily, Revan. Not if we don't let it."

"I wish I could be so certain." Revan broke away from him, slipping through his fingers like water. "These two days I've spent with Dustil... I've only just realized the enormity of the task. And the impossibility of it."

Catching her hand, Carth pulled her back down next to him. "Nothing's impossible, beautiful. I thought finding the Star Forge and defeating Malak was impossible, but here we are, still alive, while the Star Forge is so much space junk, and Malak's dead."

Revan shook her head slowly. Carth didn't miss the pain that flared briefly in her eyes when he mentioned Malak, and he couldn't help feeling a tiny flicker of what he knew was petty jealousy. "Carth... would it shock you if I said finding the Star Forge was a lot easier compared to getting along with your son?"

A rueful laugh escaped his lips. "No, not really, beautiful." Carth's amusement leaked away. "Is it really so impossible?" he asked softly, making circles in her palm with his thumb.

Air puffed against his cheek when she sighed. "What does he owe me, after all? Nothing I do, or can ever do, will make up for... the things I've done. No, wait, no weasel words." She took a deep breath and said, "For killing his mother."

Old pain made him clench his fingers hard on her hand. "Sorry," Carth said, releasing his grip immediately.

Revan smiled sadly, knowingly, and took her hand back. "S' okay."

Carth captured it again with both hands. "No. No, it's not," he said, and he didn't just mean her hand. But then, what _did_ he mean?

"Carth... whatever's been done to me, whatever small things I've done to... to make up for Darth Revan..." Revan said slowly, haltingly, "those things I don't remember doing still happened. No amount of Jedi powers can change that."

Taking a deep breath himself, Carth cupped her cheek again and exhaled to say, "I know, Revan. But it doesn't matter. None of it matters."

"But it does matter, Carth. To Dustil, if not to you." Revan looked away. "Which is why I don't... think this will work."

"It's not like you to give up this easily," Carth said, hands tightening on hers.

"Sometimes... sometimes you have to know when to fight... and when to let go, give up and... walk away," Revan said, still not looking at him. "If the... if the cost of being with you is you losing Dustil, then the cost is too high."

"What makes you think that?" Carth asked, recognizing Jolee's words. "Revan, I've only just started rebuilding my relationship with Dustil back up. It's too soon to say, well, anything about it. I think it's gotten a lot better since, oh, Korriban."

"I think it would go faster if I weren't between you," Revan said, finally looking up at him. She seemed resigned and tired. And so very sad.

"I'm not so sure about that, beautiful." Carth sighed, stirring the bangs on her forehead. "I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but I don't think it'd be any easier if you weren't here."

"I feel like that man in a Deralian legend, Carth," Revan said after a few moments.

"Taking a page from Jolee's book and telling stories now?" Carth teased, trying to sound light. "So what about this legend?"

Revan smiled wryly. "Maybe. I don't think I aspire to Jolee levels of crypticism, though. In the legend, this man was punished by the gods for being arrogant, guilty of hubris. Sounds familiar, hey?" Her smile took on an ironic tilt.

"Well..." Carth pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Maybe. So what happens to this guy?"

"Instead of being born into a new life, the gods condemned him to push a boulder up a hill for eternity, until he'd learned his lesson. Every time he thought he had pushed the boulder far enough up to the top, it would roll back down, so that he had to do it again. And again." Revan closed her eyes. "Dealing with your son feels like that, sometimes. And the boulder keeps rolling back down the hill, every time I think I've made some progress." She opened her eyes and looked up at him warily. "And..." She hesitated, biting her lip.

"And what? You can tell me," Carth assured her.

There was a whistle as she blew her breath through her teeth. "And... sometimes I get tired of pushing the rock," she confessed in a small voice, and looked away.

"I think it's amazing you've kept your temper this long with him," Carth said, tilting her face up. "If it were me, there would've been at least one flaming row by now. Look, I'm not asking for a miracle here, or instant love between the two of you." _Although that'd make everything a lot easier._

"The gods gave that man an impossible task," Revan said quietly, not looking at him. "There are times when Dustil seems just as impossible."

Raking a hand through his hair, Carth said ruefully, "I can't argue with you there. Just what happened to discourage you like this, anyway?"

"Hearing the truth," Revan said cryptically. "However... hurtful it is."

"Come on, give," Carth pressed, frowning. Revan didn't usually try to avoid the subject like this.

Pressing two fingers to her forehead as though she had a headache, Revan said, "I thought we were getting on alright, the past couple of days. We didn't even argue much."

"That's a small miracle right there," Carth pointed out, pressing his lips to her forehead.

Sighing, she shook her head, her skin rubbing against his mouth. "It... didn't last."

"I guessed that." Carth tucked her head under his chin, holding her hand to his lips for encouragement.

"Dustil advanced a theory today that I might have been the one who started this mess on Sluis Van five years ago," Revan said, sounding pained.

"What?" Carth exclaimed in disbelief. "That can't be possible, can it? I mean, five years ago, you were..." His voice trailed off. _Oh. Oh._

"Five years ago, I came back as the Dark Lord. So it _is_ possible," Revan demurred sadly. "If a straightforward attack on the Sluis Van fleet didn't work, then an indirect one might. It makes... sense to me, taking advantage of the political situation, the tension and rivalry between the Houses, and the Houses and the Sluissi, and using it all to distract them while the Sith fleet was brought in at the point of greatest disarray." She sighed. "You were in the Mandalorian Wars, Carth. You know what tactics I used."

Carth sat back. That _was_ in Revan's style. It was hauntingly familiar, too. Revan had whittled away the Mandalore's forces in just such a manner in the wars.

Mandalore had, with difficulty, united all of the Mandalorian clans together, but not all of them had been all that happy, fighting alongside ancient rivals and blood enemies, however glorious the cause.

Seven years ago, then Jedi Knight Revan had sent special agents, set up ambushes, created strategies to disrupt those alliances, fracturing them along clan lines. Not all at once, but with little things. Ships carrying one clan's spoils of war disappeared, and blame for the theft was laid on the clan's longtime enemy. Rumors were spread of insults made to one clan's warlord by another, and a duel to the death was arranged to avenge the blow to their honor, and that removed _two_ clans from Mandalore's allies. A clanhold with no defenders but old warriors past their prime, women and children, was wiped out, completely massacred, their remains planted with the signs from a rival clan...

With each Republic victory and Mandalorian loss, the Mandalore had lost prestige, and morale among the Clans lowered, making it harder and harder for him to hold his people together.

Little, tiny things on the face of it, compared to the massive dance of warships in battle, but they had all added up.

Carth shuddered, pushing the memories away. Not all of the atrocities had been committed by the Mandalorians. And not all of them had been Revan's fault, either.

Revan turned away again, her hair falling down to cast her face into shadow.

"Revan," Carth said, "don't go." He caught her by the arm and tried to pull her back.

"You shouldn't touch monsters," Revan said, not looking at him.

Belatedly, he realized she thought he'd shuddered because of her. "No, Revan, I wasn't thinking about you, not like that." Since she wouldn't come back to his side, he sat up and moved next to her. "I was just thinking about the wars, and the horrors I saw." _And did._ "Not you."

Looking over her shoulder, Revan gave him a dubious look. "Can't you read my thoughts?" Carth said exasperatedly. "I know you can read my emotions and tell if I'm lying."

"No, I can't read your thoughts," Revan said, then paused. "Or, well, I _can_, but I choose not to."

Surprised, Carth blurted, "But it's uncanny, the way you can tell what I'm thinking!"

Shaking her head, Revan smiled and said, "I'm not reading your mind, just your body language. You're very easy to read."

Carth rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if he should feel flattered or not. "Oh. But why not read my thoughts, too?"

"It doesn't seem fair to invade your privacy like that. You can't read me the same way, after all." Revan shrugged, making the scars on her back and arms ripple. "Besides, being able to read each other's mind doesn't mean an end to all misunderstandings."

"Wait, so you won't read my thoughts, but it's okay for you to badger me with questions?" Carth teased, unable to stop himself from running his fingers along those white lines. Her skin shivered at his touch.

"Whatever answers I can persuade out of you is fair game, yes." Revan smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes, but both it and the smile faded all too soon.

"Revan, I was just remembering the horrors both sides did during the wars. It wasn't because of you at all," Carth said softly. He frowned. "Just Dustil saying you might've started this can't be all there is. What else did he say?"

Sighing, Revan was silent for a few moments. Carth did his best to rein in his impatience. "He, um, implied I might've killed Lady Versenne's mother," she said finally. "Because I said some catalyst might've started all this five years ago."

From the pain etched subtlely across her features, Carth thought Dustil had done more than just imply. _Dammit, Dustil..._ "There's more to it than that, isn't there?" he guessed.

Revan looked uncomfortable, as though she were being asked to betray a confidence.

"Alright, lemme guess," Carth said, what little store of patience he had running out. "I bet he probably said something along the lines of not being sure you'd killed Lady Versenne's mother, but he knows for sure you did kill his."

Looking stunned, Revan nodded slowly. "That's almost word for word what he said."

Rubbing his face, Carth said resignedly, "I know Dustil. And I know you, Revan. The death of someone five years ago, someone he'd never met or knew, wouldn't mean anything to him, but I'm sure he was just looking for an excuse to snap at you." _Using something that would hurt you badly. Dustil's... Dustil's good at that. Too good._

"Just because he said it in anger doesn't mean it's not true," Revan said sadly.

"Does it matter?" Carth asked. He couldn't help wondering what else Dustil had said.

"Of course it does," Revan replied, frowning at him. "I wonder how many _other_ plans I left lying around are still in operation..." she mused bleakly.

"But you don't _know_ for sure Sluis Van is your fault, Revan," Carth said earnestly. "You, you've done a lot of evil things as Darth Revan, but not everything that goes bad in the galaxy is your fault. Evil's not a Sith monopoly."

"But what if it _is_ my fault?" she cried. "What if I really did kill her mother and started all this? It doesn't matter that I don't remember, I still did it." Revan put her head in her hands, something Carth had never seen her do.

"Then we fix things as best we can," Carth said, taking her hands away from her face.

Sometimes it was hard to believe that even Revan needed encouragement. She put up the brave Jedi front so well that even he had to strive to remember that there was a human being with doubts just like everyone else behind it. Maybe more than her fair share of doubts.

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her so that she faced him squarely. "Let me help you, dammit. You don't have to do this all by yourself. You know, not many people get a chance to fix their mistakes," he added encouragingly.

_If I'd just killed Saul four years earlier..._ Carth shook off that morbid and useless train of thought.

"Sometimes I wonder if everything I do now isn't just spitting into the wind, or building castles of sand to hold back the sea," Revan whispered, oblivious to his thoughts. Carth didn't know if she were talking to him, or just to herself.

"What's important is that we try; we can't give up just because it's difficult," Carth said. "You're not alone, Revan, and you don't have to do everything by yourself. Not even you could've found the Star Forge all by yourself," he reminded her.

"I don't think I could've, no, not by myself. I'm not sure I could've survived, or remained as I am," Revan agreed.

Carth still wasn't sure she'd made it through unscathed, and he didn't mean physically. "I'll help. _Let me._"

Revan smiled wanly and leaned forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. "That's very sweet of you to say, Carth, but I don't think you can help me with Dustil."

"Hey, I'm not just saying it," Carth insisted. "As for my son... well, only time can tell. You know, I seem to remember someone telling me to be patient about this."

A puff of air tickled Carth's ear as Revan chuckled ruefully. "Yeah, okay, so I guess I've been impatient." She sighed. "I've never had to work this hard to win someone over... except for a certain paranoid pilot. Dustil's only the _second_ most stubborn man I've ever met," she added with a tilted smile.

Carth laughed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Cute. I, uh, I guess stubbornness runs in the family." He eyed her shrewdly. "You know, it's only been a couple of days... you're usually a lot more persistent."

"Yeah, well, needling you is a lot more fun," Revan said, her lips stretching into a wicked grin.

"Oh, thanks a lot," Carth said dryly. "You're a _horrible_ tease, woman."

"Didn't I say I could do things a blaster rifle can't?" Revan purred.

"And how. Maybe you should, you know, show me some more," he breathed.

"I guess I do have a lot to make up for," Revan murmured huskily, running her fingers through his hair.

Carth laughed softly and closed his eyes. "I look forward to it."

"So, Carth..." Revan began, making abstract patterns on his chest with a finger.

"Hm?"

"You're saying you want us to be equal partners in a relationship, right?" Revan continued.

Maybe her too-innocent tone should have alerted him, but he was much too relaxed to really care. "Yeah," he agreed. "No secrets between us. No lies." Idly, he worked his fingers through her thick mane of hair until he cupped the back of her head, rubbing her nape.

"So... tell me something?" Revan's breath tickled his ear.

"What?" Carth asked, closing his eyes, lost in the scent of her hair.

"What happened to your neck?" Revan asked sweetly.

Carth's eyes flew open. "What? Uh..." he said intelligently, struggling to find an answer.

Revan pulled herself up and watched him with interest, propping her elbows on his chest and resting her chin on her arms.

"Why, it looks like someone bit you," she observed brightly.

"Uh, well, I, uh, I can explain," Carth said hastily, cursing his absentmindedness. He had totally forgotten about it when he'd taken his tunic off. Obviously, she hadn't healed it.

"You see, uh, I, there was this, er, Zabrak pilot that I was trying to get information out of..."

She coolly watched him sputter and fumble for words for a few agonizingly long moments, his explanation made no less incoherent by the patience in her eyes. Then she burst out laughing, which was somehow more embarrassing and excoriating than any angry misunderstandings.

"Stop laughing, you infuriating woman," Carth growled, his cheeks two spots of heat on his face. She only laughed harder, until tears ran down her face. He waited with what dignity he had left, stoically enduring her mirth as she shook against him.

"You're such a _stud_," Revan spluttered. "Even with that disguise I gave you, you've got women throwing themselves all over you." To Carth's everlasting irritation, she didn't seem at all jealous, just annoyingly amused, if those smothered giggles were anything to go by.

"It was just one woman, dammit," Carth mumbled darkly.

"And taller and bigger than you, no less. How ambitious of you," Revan sniggered. "Why didn't you bring her with you?"

Revan proceeded to suggest several probably anatomically impossible things they could've done with another... addition to their party that made Carth want to sink into the bed and disappear from sheer mortification.

Although a small, very small part of him was... intrigued, too. _Wait a minute, what the hell am I _ thinking?

"Still, I think you should be punished," Revan said judiciosly.

"Punished? For what?" Carth said warily. He paused. "Does it involve whips and chains?"

"Why, Carth, what _kinky_ thoughts you have."

"Yeah, well, they must be rubbing off from you," Carth retorted dryly. Among other things.

"Whips and chains, hm?" she murmured consideringly. Carth sweated as she stared thoughtfully at him. "But, no," she concluded, with all the solemnity of a magistrate about to pass judgment.

Carth tried to decide if he was relieved or not. And he was not, dammit, at all interested. Or intrigued. Much. Not really. No, not at all.

It didn't explain why the mental image of Revan in little bits of leather kept lingering in his mind.

"You're just going to have to carry that hickey around for a few days," Revan said with a decisive nod. "I'm not healing it."

"What!" Carth yelped.

"That's your punishment. And if you try to heal it yourself, I'll just bite you myself instead of that Zabrak," Revan finished with a lazy smile that nonetheless showed all her teeth, looking rather like a firaxan shark. "And I may just bite you... elsewhere."

Carth had always known why a man should never, ever cross a woman, and that went double - triple! - if the woman was the former Dark Lord of the Sith.

"But it's embarrassing! People will see it!" he whined.

"Should've thought of that before you decided to charm information out of a woman who wasn't me," Revan pointed out.

"I didn't know she was going to come on so strong!" Carth protested.

"It's because you're a sexy stud," Revan said innocently, although it sounded less like a compliment and more like an insult. "I know _I_ want to throw myself all over you." She smirked. "Oh, wait, I'm already all over you."

Carth growled. "Shut up and kiss me already."

A shrill beeping interrupted things just when they were getting interesting. The security computer must have finished decrypting the files.

"Aw, dammit," Revan hissed.

"Ignore it," Carth suggested.

"Can't," Revan moaned disconsolately, and rolled off him.

Carth tried to recapture her. "Hey, come back here." He tried to convince her with strategically placed kisses.

"Dammit, Carth, you could tempt a Jedi..." Revan bit her lip when he redoubled his efforts at hearing that, then grabbed his hands firmly. "Come on, soldier."

"Exactly my thought," Carth murmured, pulling her down against him again, but she escaped. "Dammit, woman, you can't leave me like this!"

"Later, flyboy. Promise."

Carth sat up, disgruntled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Try reciting the Jedi Code," Revan suggested with a laugh.

"What, something like 'there are no infuriating Jedi, there is only being teased'?" he muttered.

But he supposed the tiny slice of time they'd stolen had come to an end. It wouldn't be long before the droid finished developing the film, if it hadn't done so already. Carth sighed.

Revan looked as reluctant as he felt to get back to work. "I wish I could make love to you until we both forget our names, but we do have things to talk about, and plans to make," she said huskily. She brightened. "But it's late, too... we really shouldn't keep Dustil up," she added slowly.

Carth smiled. "Yeah. And I think I need a bath." He nuzzled her neck. "Scrub my back?" he asked innocently.

"Only if you scrub mine," Revan returned, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

"Whatever you say, beautiful." Carth had seen a glimpse of the refresher; it was positively sybaritic and decadent compared to the spartan one he'd had in House Boro, with a full-sized bathtub. His mind melted, imagining all the antics they could get up to with a 'fresher like that. He let her get up from his lap with great reluctance.

Carth scooped her up into his arms and headed for the refresher, closing the door firmly behind them.

* * *

Revised March 7, 2005, because this site insisted on removing my hyphens.

With thanks to Prisoner 24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback. And I suppose I should thank her for the idea that there should be a bit more, ahem, action to the making up. There's an NC-17 version of this chapter available... but you must be 18 and over to ask me for it. Oh, and if you asked for NC-17 versions of previous chapters, you ain't gettin' nothing until you review, dammit, and I don't mean just reviews of the PG-13 rated fic.

snackfiend101: I played it once, but I ain't replaying until they fix all the crashes I keep suffering... so did you like Ch. 56 or not?

Kazic: Many were the ways... Don't worry, Dustil will get better... Will Save vs. Force, failure: Sorry, can't tell you who the traitor is. Good try, though. :) Thanks, glad you enjoyed the reconciliation. Revan's bi, yes, but she's monogamous now. Or would be, if they were married. But you know what I mean.

Lunatic Pandora1: ... You know you spoiled that for me? I hadn't finished the game yet. And you spoiled it for everyone else who hasn't played yet and will read your review? Folks, please leave spoilers out for anything not K1 related. Thanks.

Kosiah: Aw, thanks, glad you enjoyed. I've found that one of the hardest things about writing this is keeping Revan from becoming a Mary Sue.

Prisoner 24601: Thanks! And thanks for being the best beta EVAR!

Rascarin: Thanks! I thought K2 could've been a lot more. I'm disappointed. I loved a lot of stuff, but I hated a lot of stuff, too. Like soft reboot crashes. A lot of them.

Feza's twin: lol, Dustil will get better, after a few painful lessons. Mwahahah.

VMorticia: Thanks! I put up a cookie on the LiveJournal kotorfanmedia site, which expands on the Revan/Malak fight a bit.

rimwalker, Contia Mirian, AlissaD, Chani: Thanks!


	58. Manners

**Chapter 58: Manners**

Dustil ran a hand through his hair and blew out a shaky breath when the door finally closed behind his father. Good, now he could stop hiding the tremors in his hands.

Dammit, he hadn't _meant_ to get into a fight with his father. Hell, he hadn't even expected Carth to come back so soon.

So why had he? _Because I was angry_, came the brutally honest answer.

With that rueful thought in mind, Dustil hopped off the couch and paced aimlessly around the box, his feet taking him to the wide window. In the distance, the Bazaar was still going strong, lights blazing even at this late hour. If he remembered correctly, today was the last day it would be open, so it was going to go on through the night, one last gasp for the last straggling contracts to be signed and business to be finished.

Leaning one shoulder against the transparisteel surface, Dustil automatically put his other hand into his trouser pocket, absently stuffing it there. His fingers unexpectedly encountered two smooth cubes, and he pulled them out.

Oh, right, Revan's dice. Dustil blinked at them, having forgotten she'd given them to him just that morning, what seemed like years ago. They presented a puzzle he didn't want to think about, but much as he hated it, it nonetheless intrigued him. Dammit, he didn't want to think about _her_.

But it wasn't possible _not_ to think of her, not when she was right across the hall, probably talking to his father right now. Maybe more than just talking. _Ew._ He definitely didn't want to think any further on that. His mind skittered away in self-defense.

If he reached out with his senses, he knew he would be able to feel his father's presence, but not hers. Revan was invisible to him. But not as easily ignored.

The dice bit into his palm, and Dustil was startled to see that he had clenched his hand around them hard enough to leave red impression marks in his skin.

Whirling around, Dustil threw them as hard as he could across the room, where they bounced with a rattle against the wall and plopped down with soft thuds on the thick carpet.

Dustil closed his eyes and turned back to the window, resting his weight on his knuckles and leaning forward until his forehead thumped on the cool surface. It was much harder to find calm than to find anger. The anger was always there, always waiting. He knew it was dangerous, that it clouded his focus, but it was very familiar. It was _easy_ to be angry. Too easy.

Easier than thinking about certain things. Things like Revan and his father.

It wasn't like he hadn't thought of them before, so why did he keep getting angry? He should be... used to the idea by now, right? Right?

Getting him to swallow the fact that his father's girlfriend was Revan, the former Dark Lord, was like asking him to swallow a lump the size of a fat bantha.

And that was what his father was asking, wasn't it? It suddenly hit Dustil that his father could've chosen to present the thing, as it were, as some sort of conditional statement, but he hadn't. Carth was trying his best to get them to get along, to live with each other. He had never demanded anything. Father had only ever asked for a chance.

As had Revan.

His hands fisted tightly and he scowled. And why should he give them that chance? What did he owe either of them?

_Except you'd given your word_, whispered a voice from the back of his mind. _And you're being a little childish, aren't you, throwing a temper tantrum?_

_I am _not_ being a brat!_ His conscience regarded this statement with dubious disbelief. Dustil looked at the dice still lying on the floor, then away.

Dustil sighed. He couldn't even lie to himself anymore. It had to be all that integrity rubbing off on him from his father. And Revan, damn her.

It was hard to accuse someone when they didn't deny anything at all. Why did she have to be so honest, so forthcoming with answers to his every question, no matter how inane? And pointed. Why did she have to be so damned calm even when he threw his hate into her face?

It would be easier to see her as the Dark Lord if she'd yelled back, or something, but how could he fight in the face of her serenity? He had to wonder if his father found it as irritatingly annoying as he did. The only thing that happened was that he felt like a truculent child.

Maybe he wasn't used to her tactics. Another - a Sith would never have suffered the insults he'd vented, and would've answered every word with at least one blow. Was that why he kept needling, kept trying to provoke her, with words if not weapons?

_Or maybe I'm just jealous_ came the unpalateable thought.

Father had looked so fierce when he thought Dustil had been threatening his lover. _Be honest, you were, dumbass._ Dustil hadn't known that his father could turn a simple thing as standing up from his chair so menacing. It hadn't all been due to the green eyes, swarthy complexion and scars of his disguise, either.

Would Carth look like that if _Dustil_ had been the one threatened? Dustil snorted derisively, but his conscience insisted on telling him his father had braved the considerable dangers of Korriban to find him. He told his conscience to shut the hell up, but it persisted, showing his father facing down those thugs on Nar Shaddaa, when they'd bracketed Dustil, and in the spaceport ambush on Coruscant, fearlessly wading into Sith blaster fire.

_I went to war for _you_, Dustil. For your freedom, your future!_ his father had cried on Korriban.

Dustil stared at his reflection in the window, made blurry by his breath misting on its surface, and sagged. His head understood why Father had had to leave, but his heart still railed at the unfairness of it all.

_He's here now, isn't he? So what're you complaining about, smart guy?_

Eyes falling to the dice on the floor, Dustil scowled again. _Yeah, but I never expected him to take his damned girlfriend with him. I didn't even know he had one!_

Even though he should have. Dustil was still kicking himself for not seeing it on Korriban. Of course, he hadn't known the calm, serene Jedi who'd stood to one side watching him and Carth bicker was Revan, either. She had been as unreadable as Korriban obsidian, and he'd been too angry with Carth at the time to really focus on her, which just went to show how skewed his threat priorities were. Passion might gain you strength, but it apparently gained you stupidity, too. No, he would've gotten no hints from her, but there had been plenty to see from Carth.

Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, Dustil paced the length of the window and back.

So was he going to swallow this, or not? Dustil almost wished he didn't know how to distinguish lie from truth using the Force, because then he'd have some scrap of deniability, however tattered and flimsy. But, no, he _knew_ with absolute certainty that his father had been telling the truth when he'd said he still loved Mother.

_But he loves Revan, too._ And that, too, was the truth. However unpalateable it was.

Blowing out his breath, Dustil paced again. _What could you do about it, anyway?_ the practical side of him asked. Tell his father to stop it? Yeah, that would go over well. That sort of thing could go both ways. What right would he have?

_I'm your son, and I want you to stop seeing Revan!_ What a can of rotworms he'd open up with _that_ one. Not to mention it sounded petty and very childish.

_Because, face it, Father's not the only one guilty of loving a Sith. Ex-Sith. Dead Sith._

A tiny voice was jeering _Hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite!_ Dustil shut it up and viciously kicked one of the dice so that it rattled off the wall again.

Dustil raked both hands through his hair and threw himself down onto the couch again. He was getting nothing accomplished with that well-worn line of thought, except getting more and more angry. For a distraction, he rummaged in the duffel the droids had packed for him, wondering what they'd put in it. They were helpful and eager to please, but he didn't think they were any good at figuring out human tastes and fashions. An orange-rust colored tunic did _not_ go well with dark red trousers, but try telling that to a droid. They just looked at you funny with their photoreceptors.

The duffel, in fact, held the things he'd set out for himself when he'd packed everything else away. There were his changes of clothes, the few datapads he'd set out to read, and his tools. He picked out a random pad and thumbed it on.

It turned out to be _Par Ontham's Guide to Etiquette_ Revan had given him. Dustil made a face; it would qualify as a prohibited offensive weapon if anyone could stay awake long enough to read it out loud, because it was the driest, most boring tome he'd ever had the misfortune to read.

There were sections on how to hold utensils in your hands - or assorted manipulatory limbs if you didn't have hands - for all different sorts of occasions and meals and circumstances. There were sections on how to address sentients of different ranks. There were sections on what you could say, and could not say, and they were sometimes contradictory for different times. There were sections on how to dress... _Ugh._

Just holding the pad in his hand was sufficient to make him feel sleepy. There had to be a better way of learning this stuff; Dustil thought he'd learn more if he brained himself with the pad than reading it.

Did he really need to know all this stuff? Dustil thought of the formal settings he'd seen at the aborted dinner last night. Maybe it was a good thing the ceiling had collapsed when it did, sparing him from the mortification of not knowing which utensil to use. _Yeah, I definitely have to learn this. Oh, boy, do I need to learn this..._

Right, if he didn't want Lady Versenne to think him a complete backwoods hick and imbecile, he'd have to figure it out.

_Maybe I can ask her out to dinner... someplace without formal place settings..._

Dustil snorted at himself. Yeah, like someone of her station and class wouldn't already have a battalion of chefs at her beck and call. Just imagining all the duennas and bodyguards they'd have around made him wince.

_Probably couldn't see our meals for the bodyguards checking every dish for poison and frisking the waiters for weapons. Yeah, real romantic. Not._

And he was getting way ahead of himself. Could he even get the nerve up to ask?

_I survived four years on Korriban in the Sith Academy. I can damned well ask a girl out on a date_, he told himself. The confident bravado in the thought was spoiled by the uncertain _Right?_ that followed immediately on its heels. He was already turning red just from the thought of fumbling the attempt and in anticipation of the mortification that would follow.

She was probably too busy, anyway, to do something like go out to dinner with him, or anyone else. Dustil stared glumly at the pad in his hands. And why would she want to go out with him, a scruffy smuggler? Well, not really a smuggler, but 'smuggler' was probably a step up from 'Sith' or even 'ex-Sith'.

It was likely Lady Versenne was grounded, anyway. Hadn't she said something about being confined to the House, only being allowed out for business and work? And everywhere she went, she was followed by at _least_ a dozen bodyguards and servitors. Argh, not conducive to his plans at all.

Not that he had any plans. Yet.

Dustil slouched, resting his chin on one fist. He didn't remember spending this much time planning to just talk to a girl before. Then again, Selene had come to _him_. All the work, so to speak, had been done for him. And if Revan was right, there was a reason for that.

For some reason, he remembered his father saying something. They had been in the garage, and Carth had been working on their speeder. They had both been covered with grease and lubricant, but they were having lots of fun. Dustil remembered that very clearly. And his father had said something along the lines of it being worthwhile only if you'd put a lot of work into it.

Right. All the plotting and scheming he'd had to do in the Academy, just to stay alive, was now going to be put to work chasing a girl. Dustil smiled crookedly. And hopefully, no one would have to die or get hurt.

Something like that would definitely put a damper on the mood.

Dustil thumbed the pad to the Sluis Van section, skipping to the vid tutorials, which were marginally less boring than the text. Doing his best to memorize the place settings the vid was describing was the custom on Sluis Van, Dustil concentrated as best he could.

It didn't work. Dustil felt his eyelids drooping after only a few moments of listening to the droning voice of the narrator and watching a disembodied hand point to utensils. Even the Jedi technique of perfect short-term memory recall failed him.

Sighing, Dustil ran a hand through his hair. Maybe a cup of strong caffa would keep him awake long enough to take a lesson in. He headed to the tiny kitchen that was part of his suite. With practiced ease, he soon had the brewer bubbling merrily, the aroma of freshly ground caffa filling the small space and having the salutory effect of waking him up. As he rummaged in the cabinet for a mug, he caught sight of utensils in a try, neatly separated into compartments.

Maybe he could remember more easily if he had a place setting in front of him, so that he could mimick the actions in the vid. With that thought in mind, Dustil pulled the tray out and set it on the small counter, only to find that the truly formal utensils weren't provided, only the standard ones. Foiled, he blew his breath out in exasperated frustration. Perhaps he could make do with substitutes.

Wait, didn't JC-01 have a complete set of formal place settings? Of course it did, it was the one that'd provided them for his lessons! His elation was dampened when he realized the droid was in Carth and Revan's suite. He'd have to go over there to ask for JC-01.

Damn, he didn't want to see either of them right now, he thought disgruntledly, drumming his fingers on the counter. His eye fell on the communicator on his wrist, and he smiled. There was more than one way to skin a gizka.

"JC-01?" Dustil murmured into the wrist com, "could you bring me the formal place setting things?"

"Yes, Master," came the droid's tinny reply.

"Great, thanks," Dustil said, and cut the signal. That had gone easier than he'd thought, and he was glad the droid didn't ask questions.

There was a chime at the door in a few moments. Dustil opened the door to let JC-01 in, which was carrying a platter with the utensils he'd wanted. The array looked dizzyingly complicated and daunting, glinting with what seemed to Dustil like a malevolent light.

"Dinner will be served in one standard hour," JC-01 said, handing off the compartment to Dustil.

"Okay, thanks." Dustil could already smell the delectable odors wafting from the suite across the hall.

"Master Carth wishes me to inform you that Lady Versenne has invited you to lunch."

Dustil panicked. "She invited me to lunch?" he repeated, his voice going slightly shrill.

"Affirmative. Lady Versenne has invited all of you to lunch," the droid repeated patiently with pedantic elaboration.

"Oh." Dustil was half glad and half disappointed. On the one hand, she had invited them for lunch; on the other, she had invited _all_ of them to lunch. _Blast._ "Uh, why?" he asked belatedly.

"Masters Revan and Carth scheduled an appointment to meet with Lady Versenne, who said lunch was the earliest that she could meet with you."

Ah. To report back with what they'd found so far, probably. Still, he took it as an encouraging sign that she'd invited them for a meal, instead of discussing it over the com.

"Will there be anything else, Master?" JC-01 said, somehow conveying its impatience to get back to whatever culinary miracle it had been in the middle of preparing without any change of nuance in its tone or expression.

"Nah, that's it, thanks."

Dustil closed the door and headed back into the kitchen, the compartment rolling behind him, and tried hard to suppress the urge to run around like a gizka with its head cut off. He lifted the platter from the compartment and placed it on the counter, being careful not to jostle anything. The gleaming utensils had been laid out with droid-like precision.

It was more important than ever for him to learn this stuff about etiquette. Dustil could feel the panic welling up. What if he used the wrong fork? What if, Force forefend, he dropped something? Or worse, dropped something on _her_? He winced as his fevered imaginings showed him all the things that could go terribly wrong in all their mortifying glory.

Picking up the datapad again, Dustil grimly set himself to learning Sluis Van etiquette. Okay, so this was the salad fork, which would be used in the first course, but never the third...

It wasn't until his eyes were nearly crossing, completely lost in a sea of forks, spoons and knives, that Dustil dimly heard someone calling his name. He looked up.

"Dustil?" Carth said.

Startled, Dustil dropped the fork and knife he'd been holding, which, predictably, started an avalanche when they hit the empty plate, ricocheting off the other utensils until the whole thing fell to the floor. Force-assisted reflexes meant he merely grabbed some implements by the sharp, painful ends. The rest of the silverware he didn't have enough hands to grab went bouncing and skittering all over the floor with a horrendous crash, and both he and Carth flinched at the noise.

"Ack!" The noise having jarred him out of his self-induced stupor, Dustil glared at the source of the interruption, although he was secretly glad the lesson in etiquette he'd been trying to teach himself had ended. "Oh, it's you."

Carth raised an eyebrow and bent down to help him pick up the fallen place settings. "Mind telling me what you're doing?" he asked as Dustil crouched and fished out some utensils that had rolled under the chiller unit.

It was entirely too late to hide anything, although Dustil had a horrible but futile urge to shove the incriminating evidence clutched in both hands behind his back. His cheeks started to heat.

"I, uh..." he began, mind racing furiously to think of an answer that would satisfy his father and, more importantly, get him out of his room.

Too late, Dustil remembered he'd left the tutorial on his pad, which Carth now peered at as he straightened the platter on the counter and put the utensils down.

"Hm," was all Carth said, but that simple sound of dawning comprehension somehow made Dustil's blush deepen.

"What're you doing here?" Dustil asked, picking his stone-cold mug of caffa up and hiding his face with it, and took a time-stalling sip.

"I kept ringing your door to tell you to come to dinner, but you didn't answer, so I opened it," Carth replied. Idly, he began replacing the utensils back into their proper places. "I was worried that maybe something had happened to you..."

Dustil examined his father from the cover of his mug. Carth looked a lot less tense and much more relaxed than he had when he'd met Dustil on the roof. Part of that might've been due to the easing of the stress of being hunted through the streets of Sluis Van, but Dustil suspected there was another reason entirely, and it was _not_ something he wanted to think about.

Carth picked up the datapad when he'd finished putting all the silverware back. Dustil blinked; though they hadn't been replaced with the same precision, it looked like his father had put them all back correctly.

"Hey, I remember this," Carth said with a rueful grin. "_Par Ontham's Guide to Etiquette_. I had to study this in my cultural classes."

"Really? Why?" Dustil asked, curiosity overcoming his irritation at his father's intrusion.

"Officer's training," Carth said, making a face. "We all had to learn how to conduct ourselves with dignity at formal events. Why, I don't know, because formal parties were pretty damned few and far between. I suppose I understand the reasoning, because a lot of recruits come from backwards planets, and not all of them had the same, uh, standards of table manners."

Dustil grinned at this delicate and diplomatic description of barbarian conduct and demeanor.

"Anyway," Carth continued, his voice taking on the same pompous, fruity tones of the tutorial's narrator, "I don't really think learning the proper way of eating in the presence of a mixed gathering of Devaronians and, oh, Sullustans is really necessary."

It was impossible for Dustil not to snicker at his father's remarkably accurate and creditable mockery of the vid narrator.

Carth grunted, his voice back to normal. "I guess I should be grateful, with all the parties I've had to go to for the last month," he added with a grimace, rubbing his stomach unconsciously. "I guess all that practice eating field rations was finally good for something."

_Of course_, Dustil should've known his father had to know all this stuff; he'd forgotten, or hadn't wanted to remember.

"So is there a reason you're studying this?" Carth asked nonchalantly, leaning his elbows comfortably on the counter and looking at Dustil expectantly.

"I, uh..." Dustil had had time to think of something by now. "I'm _supposed_ to be learning this stuff," he said evasively.

Carth took this in with a dubious look. "Yeah... but only when you were threatened with ship rations," he pointed out. "You wouldn't learn this yourself if you could help it."

Damn. Trust his father to be so perceptive at such a wrong time. Thwarted, Dustil rubbed the back of his neck, fighting the impulse to squirm as Carth continued to regard him with cautious interest.

Then Carth's lips twitched up on one side, a sly grin stretching the fake scars on both sides of his face. "This wouldn't have anything to do with that lunch invitation we got, would it?" The grin grew impossibly broader when Dustil didn't - couldn't - deny it.

Dustil hunched his shoulders, feeling his cheeks burn. All he could do was twitch his shoulders in an irritable shrug, neither denying nor confirming his father's guess.

"She's pretty," Carth essayed, with the air of a man trying to coax a wild animal to take food from his hand, his grin showing no signs of fading.

Dustil wrestled with himself, then decided that no harm could come from his agreement. "Yeah," he mumbled.

Carth turned his grin on the datapad and the place setting. "So lemme get this straight... you're practicing table etiquette to impress her?"

The tips of Dustil's ears tingled with the force of his blush, and even his Force _in_sensitive father should be able to tell what the answer was from that alone. Remaining silent was yet another answer of sorts. Maybe he should just come right out with it; he was getting nothing but a migraine trying to learn this by himself.

Desperation spurred Dustil to wail, "I'm trying, but I'm not getting anywhere!"

He bit his lip, trying to form the unfamiliar, unused words, "Help me, please?" on his lips. It was doubly hard for him to say it, when saying these particular words were akin to painting a target on oneself in the Sith Academy, and saying it to his father, who had been absent for so long that _these_ words would taste of bitter ashes.

A hurt look passed briefly across Carth's face. "You know... Dustil, you could've come to me," he said, uncannily echoing Dustil's thoughts.

Dustil's lips twisted. "You were busy." _With Revan, probably._ His lips twisted some more.

"I'm never too busy for you," Carth said with a slight frown on his face.

Swallowing his pride, Dustil said very reluctantly, "Yeah, I know. Um..." - he took a deep breath - "Can you help me? I can't seem to memorize any of this stuff."

"I could tell _that_ by the hit-by-a-concussion-grenade look on your face," Carth joked.

Dustil was caught between feeling insulted and chagrined at his father's all-too-accurate joke; he decided on chagrin, since he did want Carth's help. He rubbed his neck. "I _feel_ like I've been hit by a concussion grenade. Only I'm not lucky enough to be unconscious."

Carth chuckled. "I know I would've fallen asleep in those classes if I hadn't taken my extra-strong caffa and some stims." He straightened up and gave Dustil a playful punch on the shoulder. "All you had to do was ask," he said, his grin turning into a lopsided smile. He took the datapad, which was still playing the tutorial, and turned it off. "The first thing you need to know is that the best way to learn is by doing."

"Huh?" Slightly bewildered, Dustil followed Carth out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

Carth stopped, frowning at the box still sitting in the middle of the room, then shrugged and pushed it into the kitchen, where it barely fit. "Let's practice here," he said, pointing at the low table.

"Yeah, okay," Dustil said, scratching his head as he tried to figure out what his father was about.

"Be right back," Carth said, walking briskly out the door.

Dustil plopped down onto the couch, watching the door close behind Carth as he presumably went back to his own suite. Now that he had set this course, he was a little bemused by how quickly his father had taken action. Then again, his father never did anything any other way.

His eyes fell on the dice still scattered forlornly on the carpet near the wall. It would probably be best if he picked them back up, to forestall any awkward questions his father might ask about the dice, since he'd surely recognize them. Sighing, he picked them up and stuffed them into his pocket before sitting back down on the couch.

Carth came back in a moment later, JC-01 trundling along behind him. The most delicious odors were emanating from the cart the droid was pushing, reaching out to grab Dustil by the nose.

"Set it down here," Carth directed the droid, sitting down on the floor opposite to Dustil.

"What're you doing?" Dustil asked, watching JC-01 deftly set out two formal place settings on the living room table.

"We're gonna practice," Carth said. "Since we're going by Sluis Van rules, our dinner's been cooked Sluis Van style."

"Sluis Van style?"

Carth nodded. "Yeah. The Sluissi like a lot of seafood-type stuff. I guess maybe it's from their reptilian genetics." He paused. "Or is it amphibian genetics...? I can never get those two straight."

"Oh." Dustil could see that; the Sluissi were a snake-like people, clearly reptilian in form, balancing on a tail instead of legs. He recalled some vague reference from a xenobiology class a lifetime ago. "Uh, but doesn't that mean they like their food, uh... live?" he asked, making a face.

"Yeah, but don't worry, our dinner won't wriggle," Carth assured him, making a face, too.

Right, Dustil figured he'd have enough trouble with the utensils without having to worry about the food escaping from his plate. And he'd thought shyrack guano in his soup was bad, back on Korriban. "So how do we practice?"

"We'll eat and practice at the same time," Carth said, taking up a spoon and motioning to Dustil to copy him. "Okay, according to _Par Ontham's Guide to Etiquette_, a formal meal using Sluis Van rules always begins with the soup course."

JC-01 placed a bowl in front of Dustil on the intricately stitched placemat on cue. Dustil's mouth watered; lunch was a distant memory. Then he stared at the contents. "Wait, what's this?" he asked suspiciously, prodding the little round things with his spoon. They clinked against the metal.

"Deralian sea snails, Master," JC-01 said, carefully ladling the soup into Carth's bowl. The shells of the snails clinked gently against the ceramic like a cascade of pebbles.

Brow wrinkling, Dustil tried to figure out how to eat them while they were still in their shells with just a spoon, then gave up. This was more complicated than he'd thought.

Carth picked up a spoon-like utensil with two sharp hooks that looked, at first glance, like a torture implement. "Okay, you use this one to eat the snails. You're allowed to use your hands for this one," he said, explaining the first of the arcane and esoteric rules of Sluis Van table etiquette.

Using the curved part of the hooks, Carth selected a snail and tipped it carefully into the palm of his other hand. "Okay, you try it," he suggested.

Dubiously, Dustil took his own hook-shaped utensil and ladled a snail up after chasing it around the bowl, trying to get it to fit into the little depression. "Okay, now what?" he asked, carefully balancing the sphere-like shell for a moment before tipping it into his hand.

"Okay, now do as I do." Carth grasped the snail firmly with his fingers and pried into the tiny opening with the hooks. Unfortunately, he did it with a bit too much force, and the slippery shell squirted out of his hand, its flight curving out into a perfect trajectory to land in the open pitcher of caffa. "Damn!"

There was a fit of snorting laughter from the doorway. Dustil and Carth turned to see Revan hanging onto the doorjamb, her shoulders shaking silently, one hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles. Dustil couldn't help the snicker that escaped at seeing the snail bobbing placidly in the dark liquid, nor the subsequent chuckles that he couldn't keep down.

Carth glared at the both of them. "Uh, don't do that, Dustil, not unless you want to be the impromptu dinner entertainment," he said with great dignity, stoically enduring their mirth. The pose was marred a bit by rueful smile that tugged at his lips, finally blossoming into a wry grin. He turned to Revan, who was still giggling, but no longer overcome. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to see the amazing flying snail," Revan said, padding barefoot to the table and dropping down cross-legged next to Carth. She gave Dustil a cautious, wary smile as she fished out the poor mollusk with one of the many spoons laid out, and handed it back to Carth.

"Cute," Carth said dryly.

Dustil looked at Revan equally warily. Apparently aware of the tension gathering in the room, Revan waved at the place settings and asked nonchalantly, "So, ah, why all the formality?" She leaned over to inspect the contents of Carth's bowl.

Carth's mouth opened to answer, then shut with a click when he saw Dustil's pleading look and wildly waving hand gesturing in negation. Dustil really didn't want to hear the inevitable teasing that would ensue if Revan knew what he was trying to do.

"Uh, I, uh, I thought I'd brush up on my table manners. Um, you know, for this luncheon thing," Carth said, hastily covering for Dustil. Dustil shot his father a deeply grateful look.

"Oh?" Revan's raised eyebrow conveyed her deep skepticism of that statement clearly, but she didn't press for more details, to Dustil's relief.

Clearing his throat, Carth frowned down at the small shell in his fingers. "Just whose idea was it to have this particular dish, anyway? They're from _your_ homeworld."

Homeworld? Revan's homeworld was Deralia? Dustil filed this bit of information away, but the name didn't ring any bells, and it didn't mean anything to him.

"Well, yes. They're an... acquired taste. Although it wasn't _my_ idea to have them served like this," Revan said, leaning forward again to sniff experimentally at the bowl. "Smells really good."

"I asked for dinner to be served Sluis Van style, so that we could practice using the same etiquette," Carth explained, trying again to pry the edible bit from the shell. Dustil took note of the motion; a quick wrist twist, and the morsel was impaled on one of the hooks. "Ha, got it!" his father crowed triumphantly.

Dustil tried it for himself. The shell was awfully slippery in his fingers, and it took a couple of tries before he, too, had the rather slimy-looking snail stuck on the utensil.

"Er, you realize that cooking Deralian sea snails Sluis Van style means that they're still... uh, alive?" Revan said to the air.

The expression on Carth's face would've been priceless if Dustil hadn't felt the same horrified revulsion stiffening his own features. "Ew!" he cried, probably speaking for his father, too, staring at the wriggling thing on his fork. It looked rather like a piece of sentient snot.

Should he eat it to put it out of its misery - the very thought was nauseating - or try to put it back into its shell? Dustil dropped the now-empty mollusk on the placemat, vigorously wiping his hand on the side of his trousers.

"Oh, gross," Carth muttered, grimacing at his own hapless gastropod, and scrubbed his hand on the napkin. "Revan, this is disgusting!"

"I never said you had to eat it," Revan pointed out mildly. "Besides, isn't that a little rich coming from a guy whose people invented the Telosian soup fork?"

"Hey, we've got soup you can sink your teeth into, what can I say?" Carth shot back a trifle defensively.

"It's soup with character, I'll give it that," Revan said with a smirk. She looked at the hook utensils held limply in both Dustil's and Carth's hands. "What, are you two too cowardly to experiment?" she challenged.

Dustil watched with disgusted fascination when Revan deftly speared a snail with her own utensil and popped it into her mouth.

Face contorted with mild revulsion, Carth said, "Yuck! How could you eat that stuff? Raw, no less!"

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Dustil asked, holding his still-occupied hooks out. Revan plucked the offending thing off and popped it into her mouth.

"Hey, do you know how expensive it is to get live food on Sluis Van?" Revan said in response to his and Carth's shocked looks.

"Look, this isn't getting the lesson moving," Carth interjected. "Maybe we should move onto the next course," he added, handing his hooks over to Revan and averting his eyes.

"It's not that bad, you know," Revan said, chewing thoughtfully on Carth's offering. "If you ignore the fact that it squirms a bit in your -"

"Next course, please!" Carth said loudly, drowning out Revan's gastronomic soliloquy.

"Please!" Dustil put in fervently.

"Save it all for me later," Revan whispered to the droid.

JC-01 made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a disapproving sniff, stiffly taking the still-full bowls away, making its displeasure at their rejection of the dish clear.

The rest of the courses, to Dustil's - and probably his father's - infinite relief, were not nearly as exotic and unexpected as the first one. Carth was as good a teacher at etiquette as he was at teaching piloting, sprinkling the usually painful and boring lesson with humorous anecdotes describing his own social gaffes and spectacular blunders.

"So, no lie," Carth said, holding up the current utensil he was teaching Dustil about, "there I was, surrounded by half the Quarren delegation, holding a plate of Manaan axic squid in my hand, trying to figure out how to either eat it or ditch it without offending them... They're very touchy about their mouth parts, you see, because people call them squid-heads..."

Dustil had given up trying to stifle his laughter, his sides aching from laughing at his father's stories. That Carth was telling them with a pose of pompous, ruffled dignity that had to have been copied from someone, and a nearly straight face, only made Dustil laugh harder. It made him forget his anger at both his father and Revan, who was howling with laughter as much as he was, which was perhaps Carth's intention. Dustil was almost sorry when the lesson ended with the dessert course.

"So," Carth said to Dustil after swallowing a mouthful of cake, "do you think you can remember all of that?"

"I don't think I could forget," Dustil said with a grin. "Especially the part where you said you had to spill wine all over your uniform to get away from the Dowager Queen of Alderaan's marriage proposal."

Carth groaned and laughed ruefully, rubbing his neck. "Well, that's the idea, although I was talking more about the etiquette lesson."

"It's perfect blackmail material, is what it is," Revan said, waggling her eyebrows.

"No, it's not," Carth retorted. "Everything I've done has been broadcast on the HoloNet from the Core Worlds to the Outer Rim."

"Your mistakes were all cut out, flyboy," Revan demurred. "You're the Golden Boy of the Fleet and a hero. You can do no wrong."

"That's _retired_ Golden Boy, thank you very much," Carth corrected, sticking his nose in the air with mock hauteur.

Dustil snickered when Revan elbowed his father sharply in the ribs, breaking his pose.

"So have you finished with all the files?" Carth asked when he'd recovered, jerking his chin at the pile of datacards Revan had put down on a corner of the table.

"Yeah. Did you look?" Revan said, pointing at Carth's own pad.

"Oh, this isn't it." Carth held up the pad for both Dustil and Revan to see. "I was just playing with the graphics and pattern-matching program, trying to get the best resolution I can from the pictures I took while I was inside."

Revan suggested, "Maybe you should start at the beginning."

"Yeah," Dustil said, putting in his vote and finding himself in rare agreement with Revan. He grinned. "I wanna know how you got that bite, Father."

Carth's olive-complexioned face darkened, and he shot Revan a dirty look. Revan smiled beatifically. Dustil wondered why.

"Uh..." Carth cleared his throat and shifted. "From the beginning, right."

Briefly, Carth told them what he'd seen and encountered in House Boro over the last two days.

Dustil listened with some shock and disbelief as his father - his normally upstanding, honest-to-a-fault father - described how he was recruited and the trials he'd had to endure afterwards, though Dustil wasn't about to admit any admiration he felt out loud.

"Not exactly the subtle way I envisioned," Revan remarked after Carth finished, eyebrows raised.

"You didn't exactly give me a subtle persona," Carth retorted. "Thanks to that tattoo you gave me, the mercs kept calling me 'Bird Man'."

Dustil and Revan both snickered while Carth looked put-upon. "Cute," Dustil said, trying to stifle his sniggers.

"Anyway," Carth said loudly over their laughter, "I took some pictures of these schematics I saw in Neckja's office."

He showed them holos of some sort of technical diagrams, but all they could determine of them was that they were space stations or orbital facilities, but were not the habitats or the shipyards.

"This Neckja himself was pretty, I don't know, suspicious," Carth said, passing a pad of holo stills around. "I'm sure he fought in the Mandalorian Wars, and he carries himself like a military officer, but I'm damned if I can figure out in which service or even on which side. He seemed to know a lot about the Republic service branches."

"If not Republic, and not Mandalorian, there isn't any other side," Dustil said in bafflement, looking through the stills of sentients Carth had captured on his camera.

Carth scowled. "There's the Sith."

Dustil scratched his head, confused. "Huh?"

"We think the Sith had something to do with the Mandalorian Wars. That they convinced, persuaded - or goaded - the Mandalorians into attacking the Republic," Carth explained.

"But..." Dustil stared at Revan, who'd been there at the heart of it all.

"But I still fought for the Republic during the Mandalorian Wars," Revan finished for him, looking resigned and grim. "So where, then, would there be Sith?"

"It's a question we've been asking ourselves ever since Canderous told us the Sith convinced the Mandalore to attack the Republic," Carth added.

Dustil's eyes grew wide at the implications. "You mean there's a separate group of Sith," he said flatly.

"And they deliberately precipitated a war to weaken the Republic... _and_ the Jedi," Revan said with absolutely no inflection in her voice whatsoever. "If there _are_ other Sith out there, I've done half the work for them."

Carth covered Revan's small hand, which had fisted tightly on the table, with his much larger one, and squeezed it. He cleared his throat. "This is all just speculation. We need to figure out what they're up to here on Sluis Van, and it's not necessarily Sith activity."

Dustil snorted in disbelief at that. Carth's lips twitched up. "Yeah, I know," his father said. "Maybe the Vosaryk people will have better luck finding a match in the databases." He turned to Revan. "I don't suppose we could run these by OFI?"

"I could, but I don't know when they'd get back to us," Revan said.

"Oh. Okay, so what else did you find out?" Carth asked.

"I've been reading through the news and archives, going back to five years ago," Revan said, pulling out a datapad from the stack she'd brought with her. "There are a few things of note. One is Lady Vosaryk's death."

Carth shot Dustil a sharp but odd look that he couldn't quite interpret. "What else?" his father said.

"Another is a strange computer network crash that took out a section of the capital city habitat," Revan went on, oblivious to the interplay between father and son. "House Vosaryk was affected, as were Khyrohn, Sayir, and a few others in that area."

"Why's that significant?" Dustil asked while giving his father a _What? What did I do?_ look.

"Given the sophistication of the system here, they shouldn't have crashes of that magnitude," Revan explained. "There're layers of redundancy built in to prevent those things. Also, look at the Houses that were affected."

"Looks pretty suspicious," Carth agreed. "When exactly did that happen?"

"A few months after the task force..." - Revan's voice faltered - "the task force I sent was destroyed by the SVN." Her face was set like stone.

Dustil had to wonder how she could say that so... straightforwardly. Then he looked into her flat, bleak eyes, and had to look away, although he sourly noted the way his father shuffled closer to her, as if his proximity could somehow shield her from the truth.

After a short, uncomfortable silence, Carth ventured, "You think the two are connected?"

Nodding, Revan said, "Yes, but I can't really tell you why I think they are."

"Jedi intuition?" Carth suggested.

"That or..." Revan paused. "Or this is because I... remember," she added in a small voice, her knuckles whitening as her grip tightened on the pad. She seemed to shrink into herself, looking like any ordinary woman, deeply afraid and too frightened to even admit it, instead of a confident, powerful Jedi, assured of her power. Dustil blinked.

The acidic comment, _Yeah, you're the one who planned it all, you _should_ remember_, leapt to the tip of his tongue, and Dustil was about to launch it at her like a grenade when his father shot him a look in a preemptive strike. His _Don't say it, don't even _think_ it_ expression made the words die in Dustil's mouth.

_But you can't protect her from this_, Dustil thought, jealousy and bitter anger mixing and churning in his gut. But it was obvious his father would do his damndest to try. _So quick to leap to her defense, Father._

Father and son stared at each other, the air thickening with tension as the battle of wills was fought. Carth stood firm and implacable, however, and Dustil looked away first, the knowledge that his father would fight this hard for him - and had - too, undermining him from the very beginning.

Satisfied, Carth placed a comforting hand on Revan's slumped shoulder. "Then we'll fix it, best we can."

_What's all this 'we' stuff?_ Dustil crossed his arms on his chest, but knew it was petty and futile. 'Fixing it' meant helping Lady Versenne, and he would hardly refuse that opportunity.

"That goes without saying," Revan sighed. "Anyway, the crash wasn't given much mention, because all the Houses had backups and redundancy systems in place, and were up and running within a standard hour."

"A lot could happen in an hour," Carth said slowly. "Someone like Mission could go in and wreak all sorts of havoc in that time."

"Yeah... The goal, I think, wouldn't be to do any damage, but to make subtle but significant changes. A true slicer would ghost in and out, leaving no trace..." Revan said speculatively.

"If it hasn't been discovered for five years, it's gotta be subtle," Dustil found himself saying. The topic had grown too fascinating for him to remain silent.

"But what changes?" Carth said, toying idly with a fork. "Could be anything."

Revan said nothing for a few minutes, just tapping her fingers in a tattoo on her pad. "No, not anything..." she muttered.

Dustil shot his father a questioning look, to which Carth answered with a perplexed shrug.

"What is the hardest thing to do on Sluis Van?" Revan asked the air.

"Finding a parking space?" Dustil quipped exasperatedly.

"Finding a decent cantina," Carth said with a grin, then sighed. "I don't know, beautiful..." His eyes widened. "Getting into a House."

Revan handed Carth a spoon. "You get the Golden Spoon Award for answering correctly."

Carth straightened up in a pose of proud hauteur, holding up the spoon by the handle. "I'd like to thank all the little sentients..." he intoned pompously.

Dustil snickered involuntarily and threw a cushion at his father.

Catching the cushion, Carth grinned. "Seriously, though," he said, sobering, "I think you're saying someone sliced into their records somehow, during that crash, and added themselves in. But I thought the families and Houses were pretty close-knit... Wouldn't they spot a new face pretty easily? They'd stick out like a dewback in a crowd of rancors, even if they had surgery."

"Yeah, that's the one thing that seems to invalidate this theory..." Revan held up her hands. "This hypothetical agent would not only have to _look_ like a retainer, but act like one. And they'd probably have to replace the real one, not just pull a bait-and-switch."

Dustil scratched his head. "So they'd have to look like one, and know how to act... Wouldn't they have to know all sorts of stuff, too? I mean, a retainer would have a family and friends, right? They'd figure out something was up if they didn't act normally."

"Sounds more and more complicated the more we think about it, doesn't it?" Revan said ruefully. "I guess that theory just went out the airlock."

Carth was staring at Revan oddly, with an intense and speculative air. "Memories..." he muttered, a look of growing surmise on his face.

Dustil looked sharply at his father. "What?"

Revan gave Carth a bewildered look when he reached out to touch a finger lightly on her temple. "Carth?"

"The Force can do terrible things to a mind... it can wipe away your memories and destroy your identity..." Carth breathed, looking horrified. "What makes you think the _Council_ has the only Jedi who can do that?"

"You think...?" Revan said, eyes growing wide. "It _would_ explain a lot..."

Dustil stared at them, confused and irritated at being so. "Could someone tell me what the hell you're talking about?"

Carth looked very grim. "I think that theory's not so invalid after all. What if someone used the Force to take memories from a real retainer... and put them into their mole? That'd mean their agent would know all the codes and protocols and everything they need to act normally, and no one would ever suspect!"

"But that's imposs -" Dustil stopped abruptly. The Jedi sitting across from him demonstrated rather aptly just how possible it was, didn't it? Anything was possible with the Force. Yuthura Ban would've given him a jolt of Force lightning for that idiocy, and he would've deserved it.

"So you think a Dark Jedi is here?" Dustil said, purely to present the opposition. He suspected strongly that there was.

Carth looked inquiringly at Revan. "This is your department, isn't it?"

"I haven't felt anything, but that doesn't mean much. I'm hiding myself in the Force, but that also means I can't sense another Jedi while I'm hiding," Revan said. "Especially if the other Jedi is also hiding. If you want me to search more widely than, oh, this building, there's a chance I may reveal myself. And if they're actively concealing themselves like I am, there're no guarantees I can find them even if I come out of hiding."

"Oh. Damn," Carth muttered. "Scratch that idea, then. You're the gold card up our sleeve, and we shouldn't show our hand so soon."

"What about what that sergeant said in that interrogation?" Dustil interjected. "Didn't he say anyone who didn't obey or failed would come out all cooked?"

"Could've just been someone with a flamethrower," Revan said, but she sounded unconvinced.

"I don't think we can rule it out," Carth said with a shake of his head. "I mean, if... if there really was a conspiracy that started here five years ago, a, a Dark Jedi would be put in charge, right?" he added stiltedly, having clearly edited his speech at parts.

_You mean _Revan_ would've put a Dark Jedi in charge_, Dustil thought darkly. _Give credit where credit's due._

As though she'd read his mind, Revan shook her head and said sadly, "You mean _I_ would've put a Dark Jedi in charge, Carth. Say what you mean."

Caught out, Carth rallied for a retreat. "Let's, uh, let's not get into all that right now," he mumbled, but he took her hand, and Revan didn't take it back. Her sad smile grew tilted.

Unheeded by either of them, Dustil rolled his eyes. It was bad enough that they got all soppy, without getting all soppy in front of _him_. He always felt so uncomfortable when they did that, as if he were intruding into an intimately private moment, even if they were just holding hands.

Very loudly, Dustil cleared his throat. Revan and Carth started and looked at him as though they'd forgotten he was there. "So about this Dark Jedi?" he said sourly.

"Uh, right." Carth coughed a trifle sheepishly. "Right, so maybe we go with the idea that there's one - at least one - here."

"But would someone let their heads get messed with like that?" Dustil said skeptically.

"What makes you think they had a choice?" Carth retorted. "These _are_ Sith we're talking about."

"Uh, good point," Dustil conceded. If anyone knew anything about the Sith and their particular flavor of 'choices', such as 'do this or die painfully and slowly', it was him. "But if it's been going on for five years, it's gotta be _good_ braintwisting."

"_I'm_ wondering how many... failures there were before they got it right," Revan said softly.

There was a thoughtful if morbid silence as they all contemplated the possible answer.

"Dustil's got a point, though," Carth said after a while. "For any, uh, programming to last any time at all, it's got to be good."

"I imagine something like that gets easier with time, as one is immersed within the expected routine, surrounded by all the correct people and things and situations," Revan said slowly.

"What, so you just pour some memories in, and you have a, a clockwork retainer, just add water?" Carth said dubiously.

"I'm just speculating. I don't understand the mechanics, since mine didn't work the same way. All the... _experts_ are back on Coruscant," Revan said a trifle bitterly.

"Uh, yeah," Carth said awkwardly. "So that maybe explains the spy you two talked about. But... you'd think they'd catch whoever it was on a routine physical exam. I mean, you can copy memories and faces, but not even the Force can change DNA." He hesitated. "Er, can it?"

"No, but DNA files would be kept... where?"

"Ah, damn! The computer crash." Carth raked a hand through his hair in frustration and sighed. "I don't think we've found any answers. More like a lot more questions. Whoever it is could've chosen to replace anybody!"

"Not _anyone_; it's gotta be someone who could get access to stuff," Dustil corrected.

"Someone who's trusted, yeah..." Carth said, nodding. "That still leaves a pretty long list."

"It's got to be someone close to the family," Revan added.

"I guess we can eliminate most of the normal employees," Carth said, and counted off on his fingers. "That leaves the servants, the bodyguards, the aides, and the personal retainers." He shook his head. "Like I said, a pretty long list."

"Yeah, it's too bad we don't know anyone on the inside, so to speak," Revan said, blowing out her breath. "We're too much the outsiders to be trusted with House secrets and knowledge, even the ones they take for granted."

"You don't suppose it's that old man, do you?" Carth mused. "What's his name... fat, short, balding?"

"Bekim?" Dustil supplied.

"Yeah, him. He's pretty close to the girl, isn't he? And he knows her schedule, knows where she is all the time," Carth said with a deepening frown.

"But he was hurt in that assassination attempt on the shipyard, too," Dustil said. "Got both legs cut off."

Carth grimaced at the mental image this tidbit apparently conjured, but was undeterred. "Something like that would deflect suspicion, alright, wouldn't you say?"

"I didn't sense anything from him," Revan said.

"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" Carth said reasonably. "If he's been programmed, he'd act and think normally, at least up until the right stimulus activates his, uh, his subroutines."

"But he was with her all the time... he wasn't the one who killed the sergeant," Dustil protested.

"How long did the whole thing take?" Carth asked.

"Uh... about five minutes? Maybe ten?" Dustil answered, recalling Captain Morin's report.

"There you go," Carth said, holding his hand palm up. "He ducks out for ten minutes, tells her he's got some duty or task or whatever, and he's back, cool as you please. I bet she wouldn't even notice, and the guards would just ignore him."

"I don't know... he'd be too obvious a suspect," Revan said, screwing her face up.

"The Sith aren't much for keeping their tools around once they've outlived their usefulness," Carth said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, but wouldn't he be the first who'd come to mind in an investigation?" Revan pointed out. "And he's not the most athletic sentient I've seen."

"Hm." Carth leaned back. "Okay, but maybe they figure he's her most trusted servant, so he'd be above suspicion. And it doesn't take an athlete to be able to throw a concussion grenade, or blast an unconscious man."

"I dunno... Captain Morin seems pretty smart, and he's suspicious of _everyone_," Dustil said, remembering their stint in the brig and their treatment on the shuttle.

"Maybe it's _him_," Carth muttered. "He's the one investigating this, right? A perfect position for an agent to monitor everyone and everything."

"He was newly assigned to replace Bospho," Revan said uncertainly.

Dustil's eyes nearly crossed, trying to find all the twisty ends of these threads. "Father, do you think like this _all the time_?" he asked plaintively.

"Hey, just trying to cover all the angles," Carth said a little defensively. "This crash... I suppose that means any data we find is going to be corrupted or altered in some way?"

"Yeah..." Revan said, nodding.

"Hm. You don't suppose any other systems were corrupted, too, do you?" Carth asked slowly. "You said only a section of the habitat was affected."

"No," Revan agreed. "But we don't know that no one changed the other systems, too, just that they didn't use a computer crash to do it."

"Point," Carth conceded. "I was thinking that maybe there could be some way of, I don't know, cross-referencing data from different systems, from the ones that might not have been affected. On a ship, that's what the techs would do if a system went bad; they'd take programs from a similar system and reinitialize the bad system with the clean data, if the master copy got corrupted, too."

"It's possible, I suppose," Revan mused. "The large majority of the archives would still be in the House's control, however, and there wouldn't be any non-House copies, but things like... DNA records..." She lapsed into silence as she pondered that.

"They'd be in hospital records, wouldn't they?" Dustil put in.

Carth didn't look as elated as Dustil would've thought. "I don't know... aren't all their medical facilities in-House, so to speak? Why go to a hospital? The smaller Houses might outsource to outside clinics, but a big House like Vosaryk would have their own. We saw that, remember, when they were bringing Lady Versenne back from the kidnappers."

"Oh, yeah, you're right." Disappointed, Dustil slumped against the couch.

"But it was a good thought." Carth attempted to console him hastily.

"It's not totally invalid," Revan said suddenly. "It's still possible if we can find DNA records of _relatives_."

"Relatives? Wouldn't they be in the House, too?" Dustil said, perplexed.

"I don't know. Just because a family's worked for a House for centuries doesn't mean the entire family does," Revan speculated. "If there are..." She shook her head sharply. "That's a pretty big 'if'. Let's concentrate on something more concrete, since I don't want to waste time following what might be a dead end. I mean, we could be needlessly complicating something that could be as simple as someone in House Vosaryk deciding to turn traitor on their own."

Carth rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I guess we've done enough second-guessing for tonight, or we'll end up chasing our own tails."

"So... what do we do?" Dustil asked. "Do we... do we tell them any of this?"

"Uh... hm." Carth scratched his chin. "Tough call. I hate withholding information, especially information like this, but I don't see how we can do that without giving ourselves away. We're only supposed to be in this for the credits, and smugglers aren't supposed to know so much about Jedi."

_Not _just_ the credits_, Dustil thought but did not say.

"And I really don't think they'd be any match for a Dark Jedi," Carth continued. "Maybe we should check that address out for ourselves. Do you think there'd be more than one?" he asked Revan.

"Possibly, but I doubt it. There'd be power struggles and fights all the time," Revan said. "Are you suggesting we infiltrate this place?"

"Well, scout it out," Carth demurred. "First we have to _find_ it, right?"

"The computer's working on it. Maybe once I get close enough, I'll be able to sense him."

Dustil stared first at his father, then at Revan. Were they actually suggesting some sort of raid on a Dark Jedi's bastion? Fight him on his own turf? But then they did take down the Star Forge... Maybe everything else looked easy in comparison.

But fighting a Dark Jedi was an entirely different proposition than fighting an arrogant son-of-a-schutta for the right to a lightsaber...

Dustil pushed those dark memories away. They would both be fights for their lives, though neither Carth nor Revan seemed concerned. Then again, Revan was the former Dark Lord, and Carth had to have killed his fair share of Dark Jedi on their adventures.

"We'll see if it's safe to do that. Did you find anything else in the files?" Carth asked. "I didn't know what to look for, so I had my pad set to get a data dump, but then I had to get out before they cornered me."

"Just how did you get them, anyway?" Dustil asked.

"Uh... long story," Carth said, looking surprisingly shamefaced.

Both Dustil and Revan stared in disbelief at Carth as he gave them the rather dubious reasons behind his many brawls.

_Who are you, and what've you done with my father?_

"I had to use one of those special spikes to slice into the system, but I wasn't worried about alarms at that point," Carth finished with a shrug.

"But how'd you get out if they were on alert?" Dustil asked.

"I hid in the ceiling for a few hours..."

Dustil marveled at the nerve his father'd had, actually sleeping away the time until he could make an escape. Dustil's eyes grew round when Carth described the actual avenue he'd used.

"I'm not sure whether I should admire your sheer gall, or call you a damned fool," Revan said when his father had wrapped up his story. "And you call _me_ reckless and crazy. You're a flaming hypocrite, flyboy!"

Carth looked sheepish but defiant. "Desperation can make you do some crazy things..."

"You left out the part about the bite," Dustil said helpfully. He grinned as a thought occurred to him. "Is that why you made such a splashy escape after only two days?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't notice," Carth said with a driven glower, folding his arms defensively.

Revan smirked. "Do go on," she purred with a certain malicious intent. She whispered something into Carth's ear, but all Dustil could catch was the word 'punishment'.

Dustil watched, his grin broadening, as his father actually squirmed uncomfortably. With great reluctance, Carth described his encounters with a large Zabrak pilot in words of one syllable, as briefly as he could tell it. Dustil could feel the sniggers building in his chest, but managed to hold them down until his father reached the part where the Zabrak ambushed and trapped him. Dustil lost control at that point and burst out laughing, so hard tears ran down his face. He collapsed on his side, rolling on the couch.

"Will you two stop laughing, dammit?" Carth growled, kicking Dustil's foot under the low table. Feminine giggles told Dustil Revan had succumbed, too.

Wiping his streaming eyes, Dustil saw that Carth had hunched his shoulders, glowering at them with his arms crossed. Dustil only just realized that his father had buttoned his tunic all the way up to the high collar, when he usually left the top few undone. Dustil fell over again, guffawing breathlessly.

"Come on, we've got work to do," Carth muttered testily when their laughter had subsided somewhat.

Holding his aching sides, Dustil tried to stuff the escaping snickers back down. "Files. What do they say?" he asked, wheezing.

After she had regained her composure, Revan wiped her eyes and gave him and Carth some datapads.

They looked like reports of some sort, but some parts were missing or corrupted, and were difficult to decipher because abbreviations were used to denote practically everything. Credits and equipment were being sent to an address in Transients Dome, but the address itself was incomplete.

"Not very helpful," Carth said, disappointed.

The datapad also contained lists of items that Dustil didn't know the use of; for all he knew, they were parts needed to make a swoop bike. "Maybe the Vosaryk people can do something with this," Dustil suggested. "Maybe if they know what components are being sent, they'll know what they can make from them."

There was a certain daunting quality in the way both his father and Revan gave him their complete attention, as they watched him with invitingly expectant and approving expressions. Funny, since this was what he'd wanted for years, to have his father listen to him, _really_ listen to him, and now that he had it, it made him uncomfortable. But he also had to admit it was very gratifying.

"That was my thought, too," Revan said with a nod.

"Do we have enough to send a report to OFI?" Carth asked Revan. "We've got some concrete proof, even if it's not a lot, and I'd feel better if someone else knew about this and can do something about it. Like send backup if things go as bad as I think they will."

Revan looked at the pile of datacards. "We have enough to send in a preliminary report, if you're finished with your part."

"I've written it up; I just need to include the holos to finish it." Carth glanced at both of them. "Hey, isn't it time for you two to tell me what you've been up to the last couple of days? I told you what I've been doing; it's your turn."

"Um," Dustil said, scarcely knowing where to start.

Quirking her lips in a half-rueful, half-sheepish smile, Revan started with, "Ah. Well. I suppose it all started when we were finishing our breakfast at a Vosaryk shuttle station..."

Various expressions flickered across Carth's face as they spoke of their misadventures with fake police and real guards, charges of murder and collapsing ceilings. There were looks of worry, anxiety, anger and frustration when they described their flight across half of Sluis Van to reach seeming safe haven at the shipyard, only to nearly get killed in an assassination attempt upon Lady Versenne.

When they reached the part where they 'planned' to go to the shipyard and talk to Lady Versenne with their prize in tow, Carth shot Revan an exasperated look. "What the hell kind of stupid plan was _that_?" he asked Revan with a ferocious frown, echoing Dustil's sentiments.

"Hey, it's not stupid if it works, right?" Revan hunched her shoulders. "It's not like I _deliberately_ got us thrown into the brig."

"What if that killer had found you while you were both helpless in there?" Carth said through gritted teeth.

"We both still had the Force; we were hardly helpless. Besides, I didn't know there was one until afterwards," Revan said defensively.

Carth stared at her for a moment before letting it pass with a gusty sigh. "I swear, you're a magnet for trouble. Both of you!" He threw up his hands. "And please tell me you didn't really murder anyone."

"No!" Revan exclaimed indignantly.

Dustil was outraged. "We didn't!"

"Well, that's a relief," Carth said dryly, theatrically wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead. "I wonder why those fake police used murder as their charge. I mean, why not something more plausible, like, I don't know, a parking ticket?"

"They must be really tough on parking violations here if they send seven sentients with blaster rifles after us," Dustil said, rolling his eyes.

"They sent that many?" Carth looked surprised. "I don't suppose... do you think they knew who you really are?"

"If they knew who I really am, seven would hardly be enough," Revan stated matter-of-factly, with no boastfulness. "Especially since Dustil was with me."

Dustil wasn't sure whether to feel gratified or not at hearing that. Carth himself looked torn between pride and concerned worry.

"I don't like this," Carth muttered. "I don't like feeling hunted. I mean, are we even safe here?" He waved a hand at the room, taking in the hotel with his gesture.

"They used our ship token to track us, but Lady Versenne gave us a new one, one that's not bugged, so they can't find us using that anymore," Revan assured him. "But... how did they find you?"

"I don't know, because I made sure I didn't have any trackers on me, and I took the long scenic route to shake anyone on my tail," Carth said, scratching his head. "My guess is they tapped into the spaceport vids and used a pattern-matching program, since my disguise" - he rubbed a finger along the fake scar that stretched from his temple to his neck - "is pretty damned distinctive."

That was a disturbing piece of news, knowing that whoever it was after them had their fingers so deeply in so many systems. Of course, if he was right and Revan did start this five years ago, they've had ample time to sink their hooks into practically everything.

"We'll just have to keep out of sight," Carth was saying. "At least, _I_ have to."

"That should be no problem... we have the shuttle to get to the shipyard, and we can send the droids out for supplies if we have to," Revan said slowly. "And Dustil and I could go out if it's really necessary."

"I'm damned if I'm gonna stay behind while the two of you go out and make trouble," Carth said firmly.

"Why do you keep assuming we'll make trouble?" Dustil asked exasperatedly.

Carth regarded him with a jaundiced eye. "Let's see," he said, ticking off items on his fingers, "first you get captured by fake police, then you get chased when you escaped, then you get thrown into the brig on the shipyard, and -"

"Okay, okay, I got it," Dustil said, holding both hands up to stem the tide of points being made. "But it wasn't our fault!"

"Uh-huh," Carth said skeptically.

"Well, it wasn't," Revan insisted. "All I wanted to do was check on the ship. All those other things just happened!"

"A lot of things 'just happen' around you a lot," Carth said very dryly. "Which is why I'm not about to stay behind if either of you need to go out," he added with stubborn implacability.

"Er, if you're recognized, a lot of things'll 'just happen' that wouldn't just happen if you hadn't been with us," Dustil said, pointing out the seeming illogic in his father's argument.

"I could give you another disguise," Revan said helpfully.

"No!" Carth lowered his voice when they stared at him. "No," he repeated more calmly. "The last time you did that, my face itched like crazy."

"Uh, then there aren't many options. Maybe a hat? And a visor," Revan suggested.

Carth hunched, scrunching his head into his broad shoulders. "And a scarf or something," he muttered, shooting Revan a sideways dirty look, then at Dustil when he snickered.

"But at least you got a kiss," Dustil said with a smirk.

"You're never gonna let me forget that, will you?" Carth said, groaning. "I wasn't cut out to be a spy."

"Nope," Dustil agreed, with both his father's sentiments.

"But didn't you get some cuddle time with Lady Versenne while you were trapped in that crawlspace with her?" Revan murmured.

Two spots of heat blossomed on Dustil's cheeks. Neither Revan nor his father needed to know what had happened. Or what _hadn't_ happened, more was the pity, Dustil thought ruefully, remembering that almost-not-quite accidental kiss. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, not quite able to meet either of their gazes.

"I wasn't really in a position to appreciate anything," Dustil mumbled.

Carth, who had been grinning slyly, sobered immediately, his eyes searching and examining Dustil. "You're okay, now, right?" he asked a little anxiously.

"I'm fine," Dustil said irritably.

"Ah, okay." Carth's smile seemed strained and forced, but he didn't press.

Revan coughed and changed the subject when it seemed like silence would descend like a dark cloud. "I really don't think that lunch appointment we have with her will be this formal," Revan said, gesturing at their empty plates, the debris of their late dinner. "We're smugglers, after all, not of a very high social standing that they'd need to get the fine service out for."

"But it's good you're learning this," Carth put in, "because I'm predicting we're gonna be seeing a lot of formal dinners and receptions and whatnot when we finally make our rendezvous with that task force." He made a face and added glumly, "And I'll probably have to go in dress uniform."

"Sounds boring," Dustil remarked, unsure if he would like going to formal affairs all the time. Carth looked like he agreed wholeheartedly.

"Neither of you have to attend anything if you don't want to," Revan said reassuringly. "Although it may be very educational."

"Huh," Carth puffed exasperatedly. "Like I can do that when I can't leave either of you alone for five minutes without both of you getting into trouble."

"Not _intentionally_. And there are things that can be learned if you know how to read between the lines of what's said and what's not," Revan admonished.

Looking as though he'd heard it said dozens of times before, Carth held up a hand. "I know, I know. First we have to get there, so I was thinking we could go and get the _Hawk_ back tomorrow. The work on her's done."

Dustil perked. Maybe they'll try out the new weapons. The top turret had been upgraded to quad cannons, with the addition of proton missile launchers, and the belly had a retractable swivel laser.

"Do you think it's safe to do that when an unknown killer's running around the shipyard?" Revan asked worriedly.

"We have to get her back eventually," Carth said reasonably. "I'd feel better knowing we're back on a ship that can make a fast getaway."

"You think we'll have to leave that fast?" Dustil said, trying hard to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He hadn't really thought past the next day, and had actually forgotten Sluis Van was just a short detour. The thought that they'd leave soon had been driven out of his mind in the excitement of the past couple of days.

Was that sympathy he saw in his father's eyes? "It's just that with all this trouble brewing on Sluis Van, I think we might want to keep the engines warm, just in case," Carth said.

"A good point." Revan nodded. "I'd feel better if we were back aboard her, too. The thing that worries me is that this... agent, or whatever, on the shipyard has had ample time to find out about the ship, like the description and the transponder code."

"Yeah, but I don't think we can do anything about that, not unless we use a different ship," Carth said. "Thanks to that shop on Nar Shaddaa, we have a dozen transponder codes we can use, and we should be able to outrun or outshoot any trouble that follows us." The _I hope_ hung in the air, unspoken. "We'll fit BR-01 with the best sensors we have, and take him along to check her out for any surprises."

"I'm hoping we can ferret out the trouble _before_ we leave," Revan said determinedly.

Dustil found himself in agreement with her, although probably for vastly different reasons.

Carth noticed, and grinned. Dustil reddened, giving himself away right there. "Maybe we can stay a little longer, after all this is over," his father said nonchalantly, one eye on Dustil to gauge his reaction.

"Whatever for?" Revan said innocently, on cue.

"I was thinking, we could go get some supplies, restock the ship," Carth said thoughtfully. "It could take a while... at least several days."

Dustil stared, red-faced, at his father. Was he implying what Dustil _thought_ he was implying?

Revan nodded solemnly. "Very important, stocking up the ship. We need all sorts of supplies, from food to weapons to ammunition and medicines. Resupply posts are few and far between on the Outer Rim."

Turning back to Dustil, Carth continued gravely, "I imagine we'll be spending lots of time shopping for the best we can afford, son. It'll be boring work, so you don't have to come with us. And after all this is over, it should be safe enough for you to go around the habitats by yourself."

Flabbergasted, Dustil couldn't think of anything to say. Carth and Revan were both giving him carte blanche to do whatever he liked...

Of course, the only caveat was that they had to survive whatever was coming down on Sluis Van first. Until then, they had to be on their guard, and that meant he couldn't go anywhere without them. It would be easier sneaking past a battalion of droids than hiding away from Revan's damnable Jedi senses. _Blast._ Still, it was something to look forward to.

"There's something I don't get," Dustil said, frowning.

"What's that?" his father prompted.

"Well, they've been here for five years, right? Why come out of hiding _now_?" Dustil said. "I mean, until they murdered Bospho and tried that drop-the-ceiling trick, no one even suspected there was a traitor or spy around."

"Uh... that's a good point," Carth said, frowning deeply. Clearly against his will, he turned his eyes to Revan.

Revan seemed to shrink under the weight of their gazes. She sighed. "I don't know, either. I can only speculate that I... that I sent a small group deliberately to avoid detection, probably sending a few at a time."

"That makes sense." Carth nodded, but his brows were drawn down. "And... I guess it'd take a year or so to set up shop here, suborn a House or two..."

"But then Malak betrayed you," Dustil said, unable to suppress the satisfaction he felt at seeing her slight flinch.

Carth shot him a warning look, lips thinning. Dustil sought refuge from his gaze in his neglected mug of caffa.

"Yes... I imagine the news must've sent the conspirators into a near-panic and uproar," Revan agreed, rubbing her forehead with her fingers. "Communications cut, without supplies and credits, no support and backup available for the foreseeable future..."

"You don't think Malak knew about this, uh, operation?" Carth asked delicately. "Since Sluis Van hasn't been attacked since... I guess not," he answered himself.

"Malak... wasn't known for his subtlety," Revan agreed, pain lines appearing and disappearing on her face with the suddenness of lightning.

Dustil judged it safe enough to venture a remark. "So did they desert? Are they still working for the Sith? And you came back..." _From the dead._

"Yeah, I have to wonder how they're taking the news of your return," Carth said quietly. "Do you... do you think they're still loyal to you?"

Dustil thought his father looked like a man being offered a Hutt's bargain. On the one hand, if the conspirators were still loyal, Revan could stop them without further bloodshed... on the other, the conspirators were still Sith, they'd be offering - _re_-offering - their allegiance to Darth Revan. Hope, but a hope tainted with dark conditions.

"Well, we've seen how other Sith have reacted," Revan replied carefully. "They either attack, or they taunt me for being weak, and _then_ attack."

"But by your own reasoning, these Sith are different," Carth said. "They seem to be more subtle, careful and sneaky than your average Sith, especially if they've managed to keep hidden here for five years."

"They haven't surrendered to the Republic, either. I'm not sure which way they'll jump, or even which way they _have_ jumped," Revan said. "It's possible that after my... capture, they decided to stay and consolidate their position here for themselves, to survive. Perhaps they even abandoned their original plan and intended to blend in here, and work for the Houses."

"Then we're right back to where we started; what changed to bring them out of hiding now?" Carth asked.

"Maybe someone else found out about them?" Dustil said suddenly. "If Revan used to send men and supplies to them, doesn't that mean someone had to have been in charge of the, the logistics?"

"That... that makes sense," Carth conceded unhappily. "I don't suppose you would've overseen every little detail of this operation, even if they answered to you personally."

"It's certainly possible someone else might've picked up the tools I dropped," Revan admitted tiredly.

"Or... this Dark Jedi could've decided to go solo." Carth tightened his grip on her hand. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"If you're trying to make me feel better, I'm afraid it's not working." But Revan turned her hand in Carth's and gripped back.

Carth caught Dustil's eyeroll this time. "We still don't know why they picked a time like this to come out of hiding," he said, jerking his chin up.

"Perhaps their plans have finally come to fruition, despite the reports of my death and decreased support. Perhaps the Dark Jedi is tired of waiting. Or perhaps they've found a new patron. Or all of the above." Revan sighed. "The stars are in alignment, for all I know."

"Maybe we'll find out more at that address," Carth said, trying to sound reassuring. "We'll go early to the shipyard, check out the _Hawk_, and if we have time before our luncheon with Lady Versenne, we'll take the ship out for some maneuvers. If we don't, we'll take her out after we report to Lady Versenne. The computer should be finished by then, and then we can see about that mysterious hideout, or whatever it is."

"I can send in the report to OFI before we go," Revan added.

"Oh, and we can leave our present with the shipyard," Dustil put in, jerking a thumb at the box in the kitchen.

"How're we going to get it up there?" Carth asked. "I thought they didn't let passengers carry cargo on their shuttles. As a matter of fact... how did you do it the first time?"

Revan waved a hand silently, in the manner of a Jedi using the Force to mind trick a sentient, by way of explanation.

"Ah. Figures." Carth's lips twisted.

"We don't have to do that anymore, we've got our own shuttle," Dustil said.

Carth blinked. "Oh. Cool, as Mission would say. Is it the _Zephyr_ I saw on the roof?"

"Yeah."

"Do I want to know how you got it?" Carth asked warily, and grinned when both Dustil and Revan shot him scandalized looks.

"We didn't steal it!" Dustil sputtered indignantly. "Lady Versenne lent it to us."

"Generous of her," Carth observed.

"Yeah," Dustil said, and shut his mouth firmly on whatever other compliments he wanted to say about Lady Versenne.

"Do you think she'll be so busy after the Bazaar is over?" Carth asked Revan innocently.

Dustil peered suspiciously at his father. "Why're you asking?"

"Oh, no reason." A smile played about his father's lips.

"Probably not," Revan answered with all seriousness. "They work very hard before and during the Bazaar, but afterwards there's a holiday of sorts. To celebrate the hard work they've done and the business they've brought in. Why, I suspect Lady Versenne might have a great deal of free time on her hands," she added thoughtfully.

"I can't imagine what she'd do with it all, can you?" Carth deadpanned.

Dustil wondered if this show were being put on for his benefit, and shot his father a pointed look. Carth just responded with a look of bland innocence that fit poorly on his scarred visage.

"Perhaps she'll continue her studies," Revan said. "Typically, the heir of a House doesn't finish their schooling in whatever area their House specializes in for twenty-five years."

"Twenty-five?" Carth blurted in surprise.

Revan nodded. "And in a cosmopolitan society such as Sluis Van's, ignorance in any area is dangerous, so, ah, they're schooled in... all sorts of areas, not just business and economics," she hinted delicately.

Dustil just gave her a perplexed look, as did his father. "What're you getting at?" Carth asked a little irritably.

"I _mean_, they're not at all ignorant of social graces in gatherings... and in more intimate circumstances," Revan elaborated.

There was a pause as both men took this in. "Are you saying what I _think_ you're saying?" Carth said, his cheeks darkening a little.

"Yes."

Another slice of silence fell as they thought about this. Dustil's face felt hot. It was harder to tell if his father was blushing, but it looked like he was.

"You know, you both look absolutely _adorable_ when you're embarrassed," Revan remarked sweetly.

Both men turned to give her identical looks of exasperated annoyance. "So, uh, you're actually telling me they get... um, training for that sort of thing?" Carth said with shocked disbelief after a moment. "As in, uh, practice?"

"No, no. Well, not unless they want to. But they're not ignorant of that at all."

For a split second, Dustil's mind went ballistic, until common sense intervened and said he was likely to be blasted first if he ever tried that. And he couldn't imagine Lady Versenne taking it well. A high society lady like her needed to be courted with exquisite care, not be offered a rude proposition from some scruffy smuggler she'd only known for a few days.

_Yeah, try getting _those_ words out of your mouth without stammering or stuttering._ Or passing out from sheer embarrassment. Dustil could feel his cheeks burning.

"It's a little, um, early to talk about that, isn't it?" Carth said hesitantly.

Deliberately misinterpreting Carth's comment, Revan looked at the time display. "It's pretty late, actually," she said with a smirk.

"You know damned well what I mean," Carth retorted, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, I did," Revan admitted, unrepentant. "We take what chances we can get, hm?" she added, flicking a glance at Dustil, her meaning subtle.

It was possible that his face now outshone Sluis Van's sun, it felt so hot. Dustil reached for his cup of caffa and prudently said nothing.

Carth rubbed his lips as though trying to wipe something off them. Dustil suspected it was a knowing grin.

"If, in fact, there _is_ a chance, and you decide to take it, the prophylactics are in the right bottom drawer in the medical supplies cabinet," Revan whispered, but from the shocked and appalled expression on his father's face, he'd heard it, too.

A surge of mortified embarrassment combined with sudden fury, shaking Dustil. The former Dark Lord was not slow on the uptake, and knew immediately she'd said the wrong thing. Revan's smile froze and grew brittle, seeming to recede away from her face.

"It's none of your damned business!" Dustil managed to bite out, when he'd found his voice again. "Who the hell do you think you are?" Dimly, he noticed the same look of embarrassed and outraged anger on his father's face as he stared at Revan.

"Uh, you know, it's late, we should get back," Carth interjected hastily, hurriedly piling up all the datacards and pads into a heap with both hands, and scrambled to his feet. He frowned fiercely at Revan, who leapt to her feet to make her own quick escape.

"Dustil, I'm sorry, I didn't mean any offense..." Revan clutched her pads to her chest. "I, I - we'll see you tomorrow."

Carth pushed Revan towards the door, using his elbow to chivvy her since his hands were full of datacards. "Good night, son. See you tomorrow," he called over his shoulder.

The door shut before Dustil could explode, as was probably Carth's intention. He was still held immobile with shock to his seat. JC-01 bustled around the table, completely oblivious to him as it took up the dirty utensils and plates, placing them into a receptacle in its cargo cylinder-shaped body.

Dustil still couldn't believe she'd said that to him with a straight face. The skin of his face felt tight and hot.

How did Revan just blurt that stuff out like that? And in front of his father, too!

Granted, she did it to Carth all the time, and Dustil had always laughed at his father's discomfort, but it was one thing to laugh at Carth, and something else entirely when _he_ himself was the target.

JC-01 finished putting the dishes away, and was now meticulously cleaning stray crumbs from the low table and giving it a good polish, while a different manipulator limb scounged for fallen food particles in the carpet. Dustil deliberately concentrated on the inconsequential, studiously thinking of nothing but the servitor droid's precise motions, and absently rubbed his still-hot cheeks.

It took the droid's cold mechanical digit politely tapping him on the arm to wake Dustil from his reverie.

"What?"

"If I may take that, Master?" JC-01 indicated the cup of cold caffa Dustil still had clutched in one hand.

"What? Oh, yeah. Sure."

Dirty cup recaptured, JC-01 asked, "If there is nothing else, Master?"

"Huh? Oh, no." Still carefully thinking about nothing, Dustil distractedly waved the droid off.

The droid trundled to the door, which opened to reveal its twin, BR-01, apparently finished with whatever analytical duties his father had given it. Switching places, JC-01 disappeared beyond the closing door, while BR-01 rolled to the nearest recharging socket and settled into standby mode. The droids took turns residing in their suites when not on the ship, always on guard while their masters slept, serving as intelligent alarms if danger threatened and giving them a precious moment's warning. Tonight was BR-01's turn to stay with Dustil.

The idle thoughts of the droids helped to calm Dustil somewhat, and he took a deep breath, holding it before exhaling in a long, silent sigh, which turned into a yawn halfway through. Revan was right in that much; it _was_ late.

It was just a joke, Dustil told himself, even if it was horribly tactless and mortifying. But by the Force, that'd been embarrassing, right up there with the time on Nar Shaddaa, when she'd offhandedly mentioned the Force should be able to heal venereal diseases. But his father hadn't been there for _that_ one.

All of a sudden he was dead tired, as if the previous two days' events had just been relived in a matter of moments, and fatigue crushed him down.

He headed for the refresher, en route to the bedroom. Tomorrow was another day, and while he'd have to spend it in the company of that - that _woman_, he'd also get to see Lady Versenne, too.

A definite bonus, whichever way he decided to look at it.

* * *

With thanks to Prisoner 24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback.

Sorry for the long wait, guys. I'm still writing this, don't you worry. It's just that I've got a horrid cold, and, argh... Life sucks right now. Except when I get reviews, of course. :D And I can't help but wonder if I got so many reviews for 57 because I mentioned I have a smut version of it, or because I've posted in the kotorfanmedia LiveJournal site... I may never know. :D

Okay, I should've posted clearer instructions for getting smut from me: you MUST be 18 or older to read this stuff, no ifs, ands or exceptions. I'll be in deep bantha poo-doo if I send these to a minor, and I'll never finish this fic, and you guys don't want that, right?

Right, so if you are of age, send me an e-mail to the e-mail address in my fanfiction profile, with 'Coming to Terms: Unedited Chapters' in the subject. I know people have asked me for it already, and please bear with me, guys, as my e-mail's been wonky, and send your request again.

Lunatic Pandora1: Yep.

Feza's twin: The site took out my dashes, dammit. Fixed now.

Nyvanna: Thanks, and she did say 'no' to the whips and chains. :D

Armiena, Anonymous: Thanks! And, no, I never get tired of hearing it. :) And, darn it, waiting this long to review? Shame on you:)

Kosiah: Thank you! I figure the Mandalorian Wars were a lot like the border conflicts in Rome, when the outlying areas like Thrace were ravaged by barbarians, and the emotions on both sides go way over the line when it comes time for punitive expeditions and reprisals. And, man, it's hard not to write an uber-powerful Revan, so I'm glad you're liking. :)

renegade42: He wanted to, but forgot. :D And I don't think it would've been in character for Revan to yell at him for it. It's worse to be laughed at. :)

Menolly Onasi: Nah, Dustil met him first, he knows Revan didn't give him that hickey. And thanks!

MoonStarr: Heh, thanks. I notice you only review when I offer smut versions of my chapters... hm...

OrdinaryVanity: Of course you do! And instructions are up above!

Prisoner 24601: I think you're the bigger tease, you tease. :)

GeekGirl2: Thanks! And I haven't submitted anything to kotorfanfic for some time. Hm, how do you know she did it to Malak for Telos? Well, maybe. And I don't think Dustil will care, really. I mean, yeah, she killed Malak, but she's the one who started it all.

snackfiend101: Genuine dialogue? You mean I have fake ones...?

Kazic: Hope this is enough advancement for you. And I didn't make fun of you, did I? I mean, it's not my fault I saved on that roll...

Josh, Rascarin, LoneWolf422, Mortalis, AlissaD, Jennifer, Eji, Foxfire1: Thanks!

VMorticia: You could trap the Rodian who plants the evidence on Manaan. And there's nothing like doing things 'for the greater good' that can lead to atrocities... Sure, go ahead and use the quote. Will put a link to the kotorfanmedia LiveJournal site in my profile.

CrazyMissSarah: Since you've read all the way to 57, you should know their ages now, but I'll tell you here: Carth is 38 (from the BioWare/LucasArts site), Revan is 33, and Dustil's 16. To a teenager, anyone over the age of 25 is old. :)


	59. Solo

**Chapter 59: Solo**

_Ah, crap, it's not even _dawn_ yet!_

Dustil glared blearily at the gray, half-lit twilight that greeted them when he walked out onto the rooftop garage of the hotel with Carth and Revan. He yawned, his jaw cracking, and rubbed his face. Not even their usual pre-breakfast practice session had been able to wake him up fully, and he paid for it by getting more bruises than usual.

It was so unfair, Dustil thought in disgruntlement as he turned his bleary glare on Revan and Carth, that they both looked so damned chipper this early in the morning. He'd suspect them of taking stims, except his father was as miserly as a tight-fisted Hutt when it came to them, and hell on anyone who took them for frivolous reasons.

Carth was examining their borrowed shuttle as Dustil shuffled up to him. From the dubious expression on his face, Carth wasn't too impressed with their ride.

"It flies a lot better than it looks," Dustil assured Carth.

"I hope so," Carth muttered, running his hand over a dent on the fuselage. "No one would look at it twice, that's for sure. Which is probably why we got it." He grasped the tether on the box, where the man he'd captured last night still slumbered, and was about to walk up the narrow ramp when Revan called him.

"Carth, um... if you wear your swords _and_ blasters," Revan said, waving her hand at the two blades on Carth's back and the blasters at his hips, "you're just going to be easier to spot. How many sentients go around with more than one blaster or sword?"

Revan herself wore only her twin short vibroblades, without her slugthrower, and Dustil only wore blasters. The only concession Carth had made to disguise himself was a Verpine ocular enhancer covering the upper half of his face, giving him the same insectoid appearance as the creators of the visor. Carth was not only armed to the teeth, he wore armor under his regular clothes, and had a pack full of medical supplies strapped to his waist.

_I know the soldier's motto is 'be prepared for anything', but this is ridiculous._

"How many sentients get into as much trouble as we do?" Carth retorted.

Revan opened her mouth, then closed it. "The fact remains that you're extremely conspicuous."

"Yeah, and whose bright idea was it to make me look like Nar Shaddaa's Thug of the Year, huh?" Carth folded his arms, a mulish expression on his scarred face. "I'm not taking any chances, especially when someone's already killed two people on the shipyard, and almost killed a third, nearly taking both of you with her!" Only the muscle jumping in Carth's jaw and his white knuckles told Dustil how shaken his father still was about that.

Sighing, Revan threw up her hands in defeat. "I might as well try talking a rancor out of its fangs, hey? Fine, but if someone attacks us because they recognize you -"

"Then having more weapons is a good thing, right?" Carth smirked, victorious. "Come on, we're burning daylight."

What _daylight?_ Dustil thought in irritation, but headed for the hatch.

To Dustil's surprise, BR-01 was already there; Dustil had wondered where the droid had gone when he didn't see it after waking up.

"Find anything?" Carth asked the droid over Dustil's shoulder.

"Negative. All systems are functioning at optimal efficiency, and there is no trace of any tracking devices or other anomaly," the droid replied, which explained to Dustil what it'd been up to. Carth grunted satisfaction.

"We already checked it out before we ever got onboard," Dustil pointed out, annoyed that his father had seen the need to double-check their work. Didn't Carth trust him to do the job right?

"Hey, I hate surprises," Carth said with a shrug. "You might've checked the hull and inside, but did you check the engines or computer systems?"

"Huh," Dustil muttered, unable to think of a rebuttal to that, but he was still annoyed with his father.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Carth pressed something into Dustil's hands. Muzzily, Dustil blinked the small, soft roll into focus, and was puzzled as to why his father had given him gloves.

"Put them on," Carth said, waving his own gloved hand. "If there's someone running around with a fatal contact poison, I want to make sure we don't get any surprises."

"Uh, what're we going to do at lunch? Keep them on?" Dustil said, but pulled on the gloves. He remembered the look of agony on the hologram of Bospho, and didn't want the same rictus on his own face.

"Uh, hm." Carth scratched his head. "Er, against our religion?" he joked.

Dustil rolled his eyes. "That's original. Not."

"I guess it should be safe enough to take'em off then," Carth said grudgingly. "I suppose. But you put them back on right after, okay?"

"She's going to think we're afraid of plague on the shipyard or something," Dustil muttered.

A stubborn look hardened Carth's face. "I don't care if she thinks we're hypochondriacs. _The gloves stay on._"

Dustil sighed. He knew that look; no amount of wheedling or cajoling could move his father when he got like that.

_And I hate it when he's right._ Dustil held up both hands, now gloved, in silent capitulation. Carth nodded and turned, tugging the tether of the box up the ramp, another dubious gift for Lady Versenne.

"What the hell is all this stuff?"

Dustil rubbed the back of his neck, watching his father stare with bemusement at the wall of cargo containers that greeted him when the shuttle's hatch opened. Some had had to be offloaded to fit BR-01's bulk inside.

"Our, um, luggage," Revan answered, not mentioning the fact that most of it was Dustil's.

"Oh." Carth scratched his head and shrugged. "I don't remember packing this much stuff away..." He squeezed into the tiny aisle, Revan following on his heels, leaving Dustil to take up the rear. BR-01 was already ensconced in the stern of the ship.

To Dustil's mild surprise, Revan wasn't sitting in the copilot's seat, but in the very cramped auxiliary position behind it. Carth, of course, was in the pilot's seat. Which left him no choice but to sit next to his father, unless he wanted to look stupid. Wondering what her game was, Dustil shot Revan a sharp glance as he squeezed by her, but she was studying her panel readouts, which was ridiculous, because the shuttle wasn't even powered on yet.

Revan had been unusually quiet all morning, not saying much beyond a few monosyllables after she'd apologized again before weapons practice. Dustil had accepted the apology with as much grace as he could muster - not that his father would've given him any choice, with the pointed looks he kept shooting Dustil over Revan's shoulder.

As he strapped himself in, Dustil smirked at seeing his father's high-collared tunic buttoned all the way up to his neck. Even when Carth was in a disguise that made him look like a ravaged Dark Jedi on glitterstim, he still had women throwing themselves all over him, a thought that prickled Dustil's admiration - and jealousy.

_Except I'd be smart enough _not_ to pick up a giantess._

"What's so funny?" Carth asked with a suspicious glower.

"Nothin'," Dustil said in his most innocent tones, his eyes dropping pointedly to Carth's neck. Behind him, Revan snickered.

Glaring and flushing, Carth held up a warning finger and growled, "Don't you dare say a word."

Dustil contented himself with a smug, broad grin. Carth glared at him, then at Revan, who was still snickering, and turned back to the controls, head hunching into his collar.

"If you're awake enough to laugh, you're awake enough to run the checks, Dustil," Carth growled.

When Dustil was finished, he was surprised to hear Carth say, "You take over, Dustil."

The lights on Dustil's control yoke blinked, flipping over to green as Carth turned over control to the copilot's navigation station.

"Okay, Dustil. Take her up." Carth pushed his visor up, sat back and locked his hands behind his neck, giving Dustil an unconcerned look.

Taking a deep breath, Dustil took a firm grip on the controls, aware of his father's and Revan's eyes on him. "Copilot's starcraft," he said on the sighing exhalation, and powered the shuttle up. Carth acknowledged promptly, shifting from his relaxed pose to sit upright.

"Good engines," Carth muttered as the floor began to vibrate, settling into a steady, subtle hum that was felt more than heard. "Better than it looks."

Managing not to embarrass himself by knocking the shuttle into the roof or the other vehicles, Dustil set a course to the nearest ship airlock, the smooth action of the ship relaxing him. At this early hour, there wasn't much traffic, although once out of the habitat and into space, the starships still clustered in holding patterns and moved in groups like shoals of fish, as busy as ever.

"Does this thing have any decent sensors?" Carth asked.

"Just a standard package, Carth," Revan answered from behind them.

"Why?" Dustil asked.

"Those schematics I saw in Neckja's office... the fact that we don't know what they're schematics _of_ is really starting to bother me," Carth replied. "It _has_ to be something somewhere in Sluis Van, so I thought we could maybe try to find it on our way to the yard."

Huh, so that was why his father had told him to pilot the shuttle.

"These sensors aren't nearly as good as the ones on the _Hawk_," Carth said as he tapped at a panel. "We'll just have to rely on plain sight for now."

As Dustil flew them towards the shipyard, they passed the habitats in stationary orbit, and innumerable space stations of all shapes and sizes; they all agreed that none of them resembled any of the ones in the diagrams.

"Maybe whatever they are are further out, not near the planet," Revan suggested when their sightseeing turned up nothing in the way of clues.

"It's starting to look that way," Carth agreed. "I hope we'll have better luck with the _Hawk_."

As soon as Dustil flew the shuttle towards the queues at the shipyard, crossing over an invisible boundary, Vosaryk Shipyard Flight Control hailed him. Carth took over the comm and received the instructions they sent, quickly jumping them to the head of the queue once they took note of their transponder ID, passing them quickly to a docking bay.

"Very good, Dustil," Carth said with a proud smile once Dustil had landed the shuttle in the bay.

Dustil smiled back. "Thanks."

Sometimes he hated himself for feeling so gratified at hearing his father's compliments, as if he were a kath hound starving for whatever bones and scraps Carth would throw him, but those moments were becoming fewer.

_It's a lot better than feeling proud because I did something bad to get ahead on Korriban._

Carth pushed his visor down and unstrapped, going out first, cursing under his breath when his swords kept getting caught on the cargo containers, and grabbed the tether of the box.

The sheer amount of weapons Carth wore, combined with the scars on his face that the visor didn't conceal, meant he earned odd and alarmed looks from other sentients and workers. Vosaryk-liveried security guards never failed to ask them for identification and their shipyard token, usually with their hands on or near their blasters. Dustil and Revan were ignored.

At about the fifth time this happened, Revan muttered in exasperation, "I told you that being all dressed up like that would get us trouble."

Carth twitched his shoulders, making the hilts of the swords on his back jerk. "You're the ones who got thrown into the brig for murder, and you're talking me about trouble?"

There was no reply Dustil or Revan could make to this; Dustil still remembered the sight of the stone-cold bodyguard's corpse in the morgue freezer. Maybe Father had the right idea. Dustil missed his lightsaber all of a sudden.

They finally reached their designated reception area, a trip that would normally have taken five minutes if guards hadn't kept trying to frisk Carth. Dustil spotted a red Twi'lek waiting patiently at a kiosk; the usual expression of alarm flickered across her face at seeing Carth before fading into a habitual mask of professional welcome. When it was Revan who came forward to greet the rep, the welcome was tinged with great relief. Dustil thought the Twi'lek would question them about the box Carth was towing, but she only gave it a curious look.

The repulsorlift train ride to the _Ebon Hawk's_ slip was short, doubtless because Carth's presence made the Twi'lek nervous, and soon they were staring at the ship, now sitting in solitary splendor through the forcefield; the cables and equipment had been removed, and she no longer swarmed with yarddogs. The quad cannons gleamed in the vacuum, though the belly turret was retracted.

Carth had BR-01 check the airlock before he would let them enter it.

"Hey, you can't be too careful," Carth said in response to Dustil's look.

The droid allowed them to board only after a meticulous examination of the lock and the ship interior, all of its sensors at full extension. Dustil waited with little patience, tapping his fingers against a holster.

"Come on, it's clear," Carth said, and walked up the ramp.

The utilitarian interior of the ship was unchanged, with no discernible marks to show its new modifications. Carth peered at the floor and panels, running a finger along the surfaces and scowling at the dust on his hand, so much like a disapproving housewife that Dustil grinned.

"I'll check the cockpit and port side," Carth said, straightening up. He pushed the box over to the side, next to the workbench. "Revan, you're small -"

"Oh, go ahead, rub it in."

"You go check the maintenance pits and ducts," Carth continued, grinning at Revan's moue. "So you go and check the starboard side, Dustil. BR-01's gonna be checking the systems." He handed out two portable scanners, taking one for himself.

Revan sighed and grimaced, but went to lever up a panel in the floor of the swoop bay. Dustil went off to the starboard side, leaving his father and BR-01 to check the critical systems.

*** * ***

"Everything seems to be in order," Carth announced, his voice echoing down into the sensor maintenance pit, where Dustil was just finishing up.

After a long, exhausting hour, Dustil straightened up, putting his hands in the small of his back and bending backwards to relieve the cricks and aches he'd suffered from crawling into the small spaces in the starboard side of the ship, searching for any surprises. To his relief, the ship seemed to be clean. He put down the scanner and wiped his grimy hands on his trousers, hobbling to the central holoprojector room.

Carth met him there, coming in from the cockpit. "You okay?" he asked, noticing Dustil's limp.

"Yeah, my leg fell asleep when I was head down in the sensor pit." Dustil rubbed at the offending limb, now in the unpleasant needles-and-pins stage.

"Here, you've got dust all over you." Carth helped Dustil pat the grit and particles he'd picked up from the ducts off his clothes.

"Find anything?"

"Nah," Dustil replied, shaking his head.

"Ready to take this lady out for a spin?" Carth said, looking relieved to know that there weren't any unpleasant surprises.

"Yeah." Dustil brightened at the prospect of trying out the new guns. _I just know blasting something will make me feel better._

"Let's check out the new firing controls, then; BR-01's finished the diagnostics."

Carth motioned Dustil to move ahead to the cockpit, but paused at the spot just before the bend in the narrow corridor hid the view of the common area; Dustil turned back when he didn't hear his father's boots following him. A loud clanking sound reverberated through the ship, and he peered over Carth's shoulder to see Revan wiggling vigorously backwards out of a duct. Her contortions had bunched her trousers around her knees, so Dustil was pretty certain just what his father's attention was on, and couldn't help the amused snort that escaped him.

Face darkening, Carth cleared his throat and made an irritated shooing motion at Dustil, who smirked.

The hell of it was, had it been any other woman, preferably someone younger, Dustil would've been staring right along with his father. Mentally, Dustil wailed at the unfairness of it all.

_Dammit all, no one ever told me the former Dark Lord's got a great-looking ass! No one that old should look that... that_ hot.

Dustil made a face and quickly pushed those thoughts away.

Carth eyed the pilot's seat with longing once they were standing on the tiny bridge, but waved his hand at it. Dustil stared at him.

Misinterpreting his hesitation, Carth said, "What, don't you want to try out the new controls?"

"No, it's just..." Dustil rubbed the back of his neck. "You've never let me sit here before."

Carth clapped his hand on Dustil's shoulder. "I think you're ready. Besides, if... if something happens to me and Revan, I'd feel better knowing you're able to fly the ship."

Dustil felt a chill wash down his back, and it surprised him; he had thought he wouldn't care what happened to Father, that he would be quite happy if Carth were dead... or so he'd told himself every day for four years.

_I've... I've always cared_, Dustil realized. _Even when I hated him._

Unaware of his thoughts, Carth continued, "I know we've been working you hard, Dustil, and I'm very proud that you haven't complained" - he grinned - "much."

"Cute." Dustil rubbed the back of his neck, but couldn't help smiling at the compliment.

"I need you to promise me something."

Dustil looked up, shooting his father a sharp look at the sudden grimness in his tone.

"What?"

Carth wouldn't meet his eyes, looking down as he ran a finger along the cushion seam on the top of the pilot's chair.

"I need you to promise me that you'd get yourself out if either or both of us are hurt."

_Or dead_, Dustil finished for Carth.

"If I'd known how dangerous this mission would be, I never would've taken you with us," Carth said. At the hurt look on Dustil's face, he added hastily, "I don't mean I wouldn't have wanted you with us; spending all this time with you, it's been really fun.

"It's just... it's just that it'd kill me if anything happened to you." Carth's hand had clenched into a white-knuckled fist on the chair.

"Oh."

Dustil had a curious sensation of seeing double, or feeling double; on Korriban, the more dangerous a task was, the better, in order to earn more prestige and a better reward. Of course, no one would care if he'd died doing it; they would, in fact, be quite happy a rival had eliminated himself.

And now his father was telling him he didn't want him to take risks, and that he'd care very much if he lived or died. Dustil still wasn't quite used to that, yet.

"So will you promise me?" Carth said. "Give me your word you'll do it."

"I'll... I promise to use my best judgment if that ever happens," Dustil said.

"That's not what I asked."

"But it's the best I'm offering," Dustil said. _I can be stubborn, too, Father._

Carth put his hands on his hips, giving Dustil his best _I'm your father, you'll do what I say_ look. Dustil shifted from foot to foot, but he wasn't about to back down.

"Fine. I'm going to hold you to that, Dustil," Carth sighed. He waved Dustil to the pilot's seat. "Come on, let's take this lady out and see what she can do."

Despite Carth's confidence in Dustil's skills, he still gave a thinly disguised reminder lesson on the controls, for which Dustil was both annoyed and grateful at the same time; annoyed that his father had thought he needed it, and grateful because he suspected he really did need it, because it had been a little over a standard week since he'd last sat at the controls.

"Take her up, Dustil." Carth sat down in the copilot's chair to emphasize his decision to let Dustil pilot the _Hawk_, allowing him to sit for the first time in the pilot's seat.

The cavalier command reminded Dustil of the time Carth had him ride a hoverbike with the grav field training safeties off, and hadn't told Dustil he'd done it until after Dustil had successfully wobbled and meandered from one side of the street to the other without falling off.

Not about to back away from his father's challenge, Dustil took a deep breath and dropped into the pilot's seat, and started the preflight checks slowly because of the new systems. Carth contacted the shipyard's Flight Control while Dustil powered up the engines, feeling the answering roar under his feet as it settled into a vibrating purr that sank into his bones.

"Pilot's starcraft," Dustil said as he took the control yoke. Those were the formal words a pilot spoke to indicate he'd taken control of the craft, and it was the first time he'd ever said it on the _Ebon Hawk_.

"Pilot's starcraft," Carth acknowledged. If his father felt anxious or nervous about Dustil taking up the _Hawk_ in strange airspace, it couldn't be heard in his voice.

_Now or never._ Dustil eased the ship off the slip with the delicacy of an operating neurosurgeon, passing cargo freighters, tugships and larger ships, sweating as some of them flew by, uncomfortably close, at high speed. Fortunately, once out of the swift-running river of ships, the spacelanes were clear.

Sluis Van Flight Control took over seamlessly, giving instructions that were clear and precise enough, but the orbital traffic patterns suddenly acquired the staggering complexity of theoretical hyperspace mathematical equations. The few practice runs in Coruscanti airspace had nowhere near as much traffic in comparison.

_Oh, great... which path was it again?_ Sweat gathered in Dustil's palms, making his grip on the yoke slippery.

"It just looks really complicated, Dustil," Carth said, his steadying voice breaking into Dustil's increasingly nervous thoughts, "but most of those ships are nowhere near us, and Flight Control's uploaded the traffic lane grids to our navcomp. Remember to check your scanners and instruments, not just the sights."

"Uh, yeah." Wrenching his attention from the complex dance in the distance, Dustil checked his panels. The clean, and above all, _simple_ lines of the traffic grid were indeed on the navcomp screen, all of those distracting dots of nearby ships removed.

The traffic pattern put the other ships in perspective, and Dustil was able to fly the ship on the vector Flight Control had designated for them. The tightness in his shoulders eased when he checked the instruments, to find that he was heading for the correct coordinates.

He relaxed; now all he had to do was fly the ship out to the edge of the system as soon as Flight Control passed them out. The sound of whistling approaching heralded Revan's arrival into the cockpit.

They were passing the innermost ring of orbital fortifications now, just beyond the last of the shipyards, habitats and space stations. Spread out into a net that encircled the planet, the squat ovoids bristled with turbolaser and ion cannons. Without the need for hyperdrives or propulsion engines beyond what was needed to hold stationary orbit, all of the fort's space and power were devoted to shields and weapons.

"Are those it?" Dustil asked.

Carth inserted a datacard into the small reader in the dashboard, and a grainy image appeared on the screen.

"It looks too angular to be one of the inner forts," Revan said, looking over Carth's shoulder.

"Uh-huh. I think you're right." Carth switched to the other diagrams, but none of them matched, either.

"There are more." Revan pointed at a distant web of dots further out, just visible through the viewscreen.

"How many lines are there, anyway?" Dustil asked.

"Well, I think there are three lines," Carth said. "That we can see, anyway, and I bet there are more the Sluissi don't advertise. The ones we just passed are the orbital weapons platforms; all they do is shoot down anything that makes it past the SVN and the outer defenses."

"Okay... so what about the second line?" Dustil said, since they were approaching it now.

These platforms were much larger, with fewer weapons that Dustil could see; the boxy design of the forts included docking bays, repair slips and refueling spires, and were attached to fuel depots. They looked more like armed space stations than fortifications.

"I think these are the fallback forts, the rally and reinforcement launch points," Carth said. "If Sluis Van is attacked and the SVN needs to retreat, this is where they'd go to regroup."

"But don't they have regular space stations already?" Dustil said. "Why go to the expense of building more?"

"No, those're civilian and government-owned; these're for military use only." Carth pointed at a sensor panel, where the colorful logo of the SVN and Sluis Van Conglomerate flashed on the side of one of the forts.

"I don't think these match, either," Revan interjected.

"No, they don't; they're too big and bulky." Carth scratched his head.

Dustil queued the _Ebon Hawk_ up as per Flight Control's instructions. "Why do we need to get in line to go outsystem, anyway?" he grumbled. Sluis Van had way too many damned waiting lines.

"I don't know. Maybe they have cloaked minefields around here somewhere," Carth said.

"More like the Sluissi like their bureaucratic procedures," Revan grumped.

They were approaching the third and last line of platforms when the blaring of an alarm almost made Dustil jump out of his skin, and his fingers spasmed on the yoke as he looked wildly around at the sensor panels, wondering what he'd done wrong. His involuntary motions on the sensitive controls made the responsive ship jink in sympathy.

"Easy, Dustil; that was just the proximity alarm, not the collision alarm," Carth said, who now sat up in his seat, eyes scanning the sensors.

"I know that," Dustil snapped in his nervousness, and tried to calm his frazzled nerves.

"Check the comm," Carth suggested, ignoring Dustil's waspish remark. "Looks like someone in the freighter ahead of us lost control."

A jerky flick of his thumb toggled the comm, tuning into the middle of someone's panicked emergency distress call. Dustil risked a quick glance out the screen, where a boxy stock freighter was slewing around in random, lurching motions, stirring the other ships out of the orderly queue. Afraid the other ship might crash into the _Hawk_, Dustil maneuvered off to the side, putting some distance between them, but his nerves turned the motion into a sharp, unexpected bank.

"Easy," Carth said. "Relax, ease up on your grip."

Taking a deep, calming breath, Dustil released his white-knuckled grip on the yoke, and the ship stopped yawing in sympathy. "What do we do now?" he asked, keeping an eye on the stricken freighter.

"We'd go help them if we were the only ones around, but it looks like one of the patrol ships are coming to check," Carth said, jerking his chin at the fast-approaching dot in the distance, which resolved into the sleek, silvery shape of a SVN corvette.

Carth sat back, relaxing. "We'll let them handle it; let's just wait for instructions. Oh, hey, this should be our chance to get close to one of those platforms. Dustil, try to sidle over to one."

"Yeah, okay."

Dustil did his best to keep the ship oriented on the freighter, as if keeping watch on its erratic moments, when in actuality he had directed the port sensors towards a nearby platform.

"Passive sensors only; we don't want them to suspect us of spying," Carth said.

"You mean we're not?" Dustil said, snorting. Carth chuckled.

"I think we've found our match," Revan said.

"Yeah," Carth said. "Now the question is: what the hell does Sayir want with the scanner platforms?"

"Scanner platforms? Is that what these are?" Dustil asked.

"I think so. This is just one fort of a huge net spanning the system," Carth answered. "Each platform has minimal weapons, because mostly it's got sensors, to keep watch on the approach vectors any enemy ships are likely to take."

"They also double as deep-space communications relays, and they handle about ninety percent of Sluis Van's comm traffic," Revan put in. "If anyone wanted to silence Sluis Van, and blind them..."

"Then these are the forts they have to take out first," Carth finished for her.

Dustil exchanged a worried look with his father. From all the evidence, it looked like House Sayir was poised to launch an attack on the sensor platforms, in order to hide or delay news of their coup, but this theory still didn't explain how they planned to deal with the SVN. Every answer seemed to bring more questions.

Revan straightened up. "I better go and add this to the reports."

Dustil used a breathing exercise to calm his still-pounding heart down, and changed the subject to something simpler and less depressing. "What do you think happened to that ship?"

Scratching his chin, Carth examined the sensor readings. "Looks like one of their port maneuvering thrusters is stuck, and they're trying to compensate by firing their starboard thrusters, otherwise they'd be spinning in a circle."

Carth grunted. "Look at that hull... if they keep their inside like they do their outside, it's no wonder something went wrong."

The exterior of the ship was patchy in places with badly welded repairs, and exposed panels and cables were showing, a hazardous proposition in space, where the least little debris could impact a critical system.

A widebeam broadcast from Flight Control gave them instructions to get back into place while the SVN corvette tractored the freighter and towed it away. Dustil breathed a sigh of relief, watching them go, then noticed Carth's frown.

"What?" Dustil prompted.

"Hm? Oh, I was just wondering why that ship just happens to malfunction when we're just behind it," Carth replied, staring at the two receding starships.

"You mean you think they did it on purpose?" Dustil said, staring at his father. "That's crazy!"

Behind them, Revan snickered.

"Believe it or not, you're not the first to say that, and you probably won't be the last," Carth said with a rueful chuckle. "I just thought it seemed -"

"Suspicious?" Dustil finished for him. "Flight Control's the one that lined us up, so now you suspect the controllers?" he added, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, no, but you can't be too careful. There's no telling who they've suborned and what traps have been laid," Carth said in a low voice, as if making sure no saboteurs in space could hear him.

"I'm surprised you haven't locked yourself into our hotel room if you think so many people are out to get us," Dustil jibed. Of course, if his father locked himself in anywhere, he'd probably want Revan in there with him. _Ew..._

"Cute," Carth returned, stung. He leaned back, folding his arms. "Just, just keep your eyes on the damned traffic." He reached out and tapped a screen. "Just in case, I'm going to log that freighter's transponder ID."

Finally, they reached open space without further mishap, out of the way of any flight lanes or boundaries. Even here, Dustil could see ships in the distance, distant flocks of birds winging towards home. He cut the _Hawk's_ forward momentum, and they drifted around a nameless asteroid.

Carth had been silent throughout the entire trip, ever since their run-in with the malfunctioning freighter, content to just sit with his arms crossed in his chair, looking on while Dustil sweated. Now he beamed.

"That was great, Dustil. A little slow, but that's okay. You didn't crash into anything or lose control, and you didn't panic when that freighter lost its thruster, and that's what counts."

Exhaling a shaky breath, Dustil relaxed, only just now aware of his tensed muscles and sweat. "Thanks."

It was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, to hold the controls of a starship in his hands, along with the lives of its crew and passengers, with all the responsibilities inherent in that power. Absolute control of a ship in his hands; it was a heady feeling.

_Wow. So this is what it means to be a pilot._

Amused understanding lurked in Carth's eyes when Dustil blinked at him, as if he knew what Dustil was thinking and feeling. _He probably does._

"So what would you like to do?" his father asked with an indulgent smile. "Keep flying or try out the guns?"

Now that was a tough choice: fly or blast something into very small pieces? Dustil wrestled with himself and said, "Guns." He could always fly later.

Carth grinned as though he'd known how Dustil would answer. "Okay, I'll take over, then."

Dustil released his safety harness and headed for the gun turret, spotting Revan in the communications bay as he walked past. She was probably busy sending the reports.

After a satisfying hour of blasting innocent asteroids with the quad cannons, Carth joining in with the belly turret sometimes, his father ended the session.

Carth was waiting at the foot of the ladder that led up to the turret controls when Dustil climbed down.

"We've got about another hour before we meet the lady for lunch," Carth said as he waved Dustil to walk ahead of him into the holo room. Revan was already there, perusing a pad.

"So? Do we do some more flying?" Dustil asked, feeling anticipation mixed with nervousness.

"Nope," Carth said, looking around the room. "First we give the _Hawk_ a good scrubbing." He grabbed up one of the repulsorbrooms that were leaning against the wall.

Dustil didn't need the Force to tell him where this was going. "Uh, um, I should go check our quarters and make sure our stuff hasn't been messed with," Dustil said, the words tumbling out in a rush in his haste to get away, and he hurried towards starboard.

His attempt to avoid the inevitable domestic chore was thwarted when a hand grabbed him by the back of his tunic collar and hauled him up short.

"Oh no you don't," Carth said. "_You're_ going to help clean. Be thankful I don't have you scrub the deckplates." He shoved the handle of the broom into Dustil's unwilling hands, and took one for himself.

Carth tossed the last broom to Revan, who caught it with a sigh; she gave them a sardonic salute.

"Watch out, dust and dirt, the Force fights with me!" Revan said, striking a dramatic pose with the broom held like a staff.

"Cute." Snorting, Carth shooed her off.

"The droids can clean, can't they?" Dustil whined.

"They'll have their manipulators full checking the systems," Carth said, pulling him by main force to the port quarters. He paused to run a finger along the sensor station's instrument panel. "I mean, look at this!" He showed the offending smudge on his finger to Dustil. "It's a disgrace!"

"Father..." Dustil tried one more time, struggling to get out of his father's hold on his jacket. The last time Carth had done this, he'd had to clean his part of the ship before they'd put into the repair slip.

Still dragging Dustil, Carth said with hideous good cheer, "Look on the bright side, Dustil. If that girl ever came on board again, at least we can say we're _clean_ smugglers."

"You should've been a housewife, Father," Dustil grumbled, resigning himself.

"Inspection's in forty-five minutes. I suggest getting it right the first time; you wouldn't want to be late for that lunch date, right?" Carth grinned.

It was a terrible, terrible thing, Dustil thought, when his father sounded so damned gleeful about _cleaning_. Or maybe Father was just happy about having drafted a conscript. It had to be Carth's revenge for laughing at him; it was positively Sith-like in its subtlety, and Dustil would admire it, if he weren't its victim.

*** * ***

Dustil flew the _Ebon Hawk_ back with no further misadventures, and this time the shipyard directed them to Lady Versenne's personal docking bay. As the landing pad approached, Dustil took especial care in maneuvering in next to the yacht, in case a certain someone was watching.

To his disappointment, the reception that greeted them when they walked down the loading ramp, Carth pulling the box behind him, did not include Lady Versenne. It did include Captain Morin, two guards and two war droids. Another pair of guards and their war droid partners stood sentry at the doors.

Carth spared an admiring look for the sleek yacht before frowning at the greeting committee. "Huh, do we really rate an escort?" Carth muttered. "Especially an _armed_ escort?"

Revan shrugged. "Takes a suspicious bastard to know another suspicious bastard, I guess."

Captain Morin walked into earshot before Dustil could reply. The captain was looking much better, no longer so pale, and his bandages were no longer in evidence.

"Captain, Stiller," Captain Morin said, nodding to them. His eye fell with some reluctance on Carth. "_This_ must be Nasi," he added, his eyes lingering with disapproval on Carth's swords, then on the blasters on his hips. "I'm Captain Morin." He did not offer his hand, but at least he had been courteous enough to leave his bodyguards behind.

Carth eyed the captain with equal wariness and suspicion, making his own frank appraisal of the older man. "That's right," he said, hands twitching towards his blasters. Dustil didn't think his father even knew he was doing that.

Revan's lips quirked, and Dustil had to restrain a snicker at this display; his father and the captain were acting like two kath hounds, one having invaded the territory of the other.

_I hope nobody gets into a fight for dominance._ The thought made Dustil duck his head to hide a grin.

Captain Morin frowned at the box Carth had towed behind him. "Another, ah, gift?"

"This one was chasing Nasi instead of us," Revan explained.

"Ah, yes, so you said in your report." Captain Morin waved at one of the guards to take the box. "We'll make sure this one stays alive, this time."

Dustil exchanged a significant look with Carth and Revan. _And if this one doesn't, what would that say? And mean?_ He couldn't help feeling a little sympathy for the man in the box, since it was likely he would be put through a very rigorous interrogation, even if they didn't use torture.

Looking as though he'd like to relieve Carth of all his weapons and frisk him thoroughly, Captain Morin said, "My Lady is expecting you. Please, follow me."

Dustil thought the captain wished he'd said, "Please, follow me to the brig, where I can lock you all up. Especially you, Nasi, and _especially_ all of your weapons."

"You know you're going to have to take them off at lunch, right?" Revan whispered to Carth.

Carth took off his ocular enhancer and gave her a dry look. "Do I look like a barbarian? No, wait, don't answer that," he said hastily when she opened her mouth. He scratched his chin with a thoughtful look on his face. "Maybe I should keep them on; I'd love to see the looks on their faces if I use one to cut up a steak or something. The captain seems to expect me to drag my knuckles on the floor and grunt."

_Damn, and me without my holocron_ warred with _You wouldn't!_ in Dustil's head. The mental image was both amusing and embarrassing, though he was pretty sure his father was joking. Pretty sure.

The guards and the droids fell in behind them, while Captain Morin took the lead, reminding Dustil of their courteous if not quite comfortable treatment as prisoners. Carth twitched, looking very unhappy, but Revan's face was unreadable.

_At least they've got their blasters holstered, not pointed at us._ The thought was not as comforting as Dustil would've liked, not when he could feel the heavy footfalls of the droids vibrating up his bootsoles.

The metallic smells of the docking bay fell behind them, gradually fading into the wood varnish and spice redolence of the shipyard offices, their footsteps now muffled by the carpet. The presence of the armed guards and Carth's own disreputable appearance earned them curious stares from the sentients walking the halls.

At last they came to Lady Versenne's office, shedding their rearguard in the hall, but Captain Morin paused on the threshold.

"May I take your weapons? So that you would be more comfortable, of course," Captain Morin murmured. One of the guards handed him a beautiful wooden box, polished and carved until the grain of the wood gleamed in the light, and Captain Morin held it out invitingly.

"I assure you, they will not be stolen or tampered with," Captain Morin said.

Shrugging, Revan unstrapped her blades and relinquished them, and Dustil followed suit with his blasters. Carth sighed and took off his pistol belts, then his blades, dropping them into the box with ill grace, and glared at the captain.

Captain Morin continued to hold the box open. "Your concealed slugthrower, too, please."

Dustil stared at his father, surprised. Caught out, Carth reached behind him with exaggerated slowness, and pulled a small, flat slugthrower out from the waistband of his trousers. If that slugthrower had gone off accidentally... Well, it was his father's ass on the line, Dustil thought, and snorted. Revan looked very amused.

Carth slapped the slugthrower into the box, where it bounced with a rattle, but he couldn't protest.

Captain Morin's lips twitched with dry humor. "And the knife in your left boot, sir."

Puffing up in indignation, Carth opened his mouth, then closed it. He folded his arms. "I'm keeping that. It's just a dead blade, and I might have to trim my fingernails."

Revan looked back and forth between the two men, both of them in an unmoveable and stubborn standoff. The guards flanking the doors were looking antsy, Dustil noticed, their hands creeping to their blaster rifles.

"Gentlemen, we're on a schedule. Let me remind you, Captain, that your Lady allowed us to keep our weapons the last time we were here, and you'll have to explain to her why you're keeping her waiting while we're stuck outside."

It was Captain Morin's turn to glower this time; after a moment's hesitation, he closed the box and handed it off to a guard. Then he gave Carth a cautioning look, _If you even twitch the wrong way, you're dead._ "Very well." He gave them a shallow, ironic bow. "After you."

They finally entered Lady Versenne's office, the scent of leather and aged wood puffing in Dustil's face like a gentle kiss when the doors opened, and he found that the splendid view had lost none of its impact on him. From his wide eyes, Carth was just as impressed, but his face grew pinched when he took in the guards standing around the room.

Lady Versenne rose from her desk, coming forward to greet them. She was dressed again all in white, her hair bound simply with a black ribbon, and looked fully recovered from her ordeal. Closer to, however, Dustil saw the shadows under her eyes.

"Captain, Stiller," Lady Versenne murmured, acknowledging their bows. She turned to Carth. "I am pleased to see you have returned safely from your mission. You risked much to acquire this information."

"Oh, it wasn't any trouble," Carth said. Dustil's lips twitched, knowing what a lie those modest words hid.

"I read your report; if you deem your adventures 'no trouble', I would hesitate to inquire as to what you _would_ consider trouble," Lady Versenne said, her mouth curling in a faint smile. "But I am remiss in my manners; please, sit." She turned and walked back to her desk, her long gown trailing behind her on the carpet, Captain Morin moving to stand at her side as she reseated herself.

Bekim, now able to walk without the aid of a repulsorlift chair, offered caffa and tea to them on a tray when they were seated in comfortable, overstuffed nerf-hide chairs in front of Lady Versenne's desk. Dustil watched Carth take a cup, his eyes darting to the chemical analyzer in his wrist communicator before sipping; Dustil took a drink from his cup only when Carth lowered his eyelids in a prearranged signal.

Dustil resisted the urge to roll his eyes; he'd been pretty sure no one would try to poison them in Lady Versenne's company, but his father had insisted. He settled for shooting Carth a _See, told you so_ look, to which Carth responded with a tiny unrepentant twitch of his shoulders.

"Have your analysts had any luck in determining the identities of anyone in House Boro?" Revan inquired after sipping her tea.

"The Twi'lek, Ojuun, is a real retainer in House Boro," Captain Morin said when Lady Versenne waved at him to answer. "Or should I say, 'was', since it is quite obvious he has changed his loyalties."

"Since House Boro was absorbed into House Sayir through marriage, one could hardly say his loyalties changed," Lady Versenne said.

"Aye, that is true," Captain Morin conceded. "This Neckja fellow, however, has not shown up in our searches."

That didn't surprise Dustil; the odds of any Sith leaving any sort of trail were pretty much nil, especially when they've been undiscovered for five years, and couldn't have been that well-known in the first place.

"Has _any_ of the stuff I brought back helped any?" Carth asked.

Bekim and Captain Morin stared at Carth as if he'd turned into a rancor that spoke eloquent Basic, and Dustil was hard put to stifle his laughter. Maybe they really did expect Carth to communicate in grunts.

"Since none of our own agents were able to get as far as being recruited at all, your infiltration of House Boro has paid unexpected dividends," Lady Versenne said, as calm and collected as ever.

"Such as?" Revan prompted.

"Such as knowing that there is a sizeable force hidden in House Boro," Captain Morin interjected.

"Is there anything you can do about it?"

"That... is where things become complicated." Captain Morin looked both frustrated and sheepish. "Since we hardly obtained this information in a, ah, strictly legal manner, you see the difficulty in explaining to the police and the Sluiss Van Conglomerate."

"Anonymous tip?" Carth suggested.

"That is what we have done." Lady Versenne nodded. "However, there is no _actual_ law that renders employing mercenaries illegal. Many Houses do, after all, if not in such numbers."

"It _is_ suspicious, and should alert the Sluissi authorities to possible trouble," Captain Morin concluded. "I fear, however, they will not be able to concentrate on this matter until Bazaar's End is finished, since they must have their hands full with security matters, in order to protect all the dignitaries at the event."

"Is there anything you, personally, can do about it, Lady?" Revan said, frowning into her cup.

"Little, I am afraid. House Boro, after all, is not affiliated with House Vosaryk in any way, and has not been for several centuries." Lady Versenne spread her hands. "I have no authority over another House's internal matters, which is what it clearly is, even if I were Head of my own House."

Dustil could tell from the way Carth grimaced and Revan's impassive face that they weren't surprised, but they were also disappointed by the lack of action they could take.

"Any luck finding whoever killed Bospho?" Revan said after a moment in which everyone looked glum.

The shadows in Lady Versenne's eyes darkened. "No."

Captain Morin elaborated. "Our Verpine data specialists have discovered discrepancies and signs of subtle, expert tampering of our logs." He sighed heavily. "Only someone on the inside could have done this."

Desultorily, they discussed the implications of an inside agent, but nothing was said that hadn't already been said. Dustil could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, wondering if the killer was even now in the same room with them, listening to them talk, watching their every move. Carth's paranoid theories didn't seem so paranoid now that he was sitting among Vosaryk-liveried sentients armed with blasters.

As planned, none of them mentioned the partial address they'd found in the files. If things went according to schedule, they'd be there later. Dustil still doubted the wisdom of going there by themselves without any backup, but he was damned if he was going to say anything and sound like he was scared.

_Never let them see you shake._

Besides, if they did find something of interest there, that was another excuse to see Lady Versenne again, ha.

"We have yet to interrogate the new prisoner, but I doubt he will say anything we do not already know," Captain Morin said, his voice breaking into Dustil's thoughts.

That was no surprise, since the grunt wasn't likely to know more than the sergeant. The elation he'd felt at his father's safe return, with precious information that could help Lady Versenne, started to drain away. None of it seemed adequate, whatever Lady Versenne said. They seemed no closer to finding out what was going on than they had two days ago.

"You were there for two days, Nasi... what will their reaction be to your escape?" Captain Morin asked Carth. "Is it possible that they could uproot their operations immediately, leaving nothing for the police to find?"

"It's hard to say, Captain." Carth scratched his chin in thought. "I got the distinct feeling they were working on a deadline or a schedule, and they were really driving the new recruits. If I hadn't downloaded what I could from the brig computer, they might've tossed it off as a, um, merc quarrel over a woman."

Lady Versenne raised an eyebrow. Dustil had to cover his mouth with one hand to hide his grin, while Revan's eyes crinkled at the corners. Carth shifted in his chair, face darkening.

Clearing his throat, Carth continued, "But since I gave myself away with that, they probably think I'm a spy who got out with some sort of information. They'll either call off whatever they've been planning, or they'll go faster and try to move ahead of schedule, even if they're not ready yet."

Lady Versenne asked the question that was on all of their minds. "And which way do you think they will move?"

Carth hesitated for a moment, looking down at his mug of caffa as if it held all the answers. "They've invested too much time, credits and resources to back out now." He looked back up, face grim and somber. "I think they'll move soon. In a standard week or two. Maybe less."

Lady Versenne's face didn't twitch a muscle, but she did pale, the white of her robe making her face look bloodless. Captain Morin and Bekim inhaled sharply, casting anxious looks at each other.

"I see," Lady Versenne said. "So little time." She folded her hands on the polished black surface of her desk.

Dustil didn't see any trace of fear or panic on her face, but he could feel her emotions through the Force, strong enough that he could feel them even though he had his senses in abeyance. Identical waves of worry and fear came from her two retainers, but they, too, had impassive if pale faces.

"I thank you again for your help," Lady Versenne said. "For the risks you took and the information you brought. I assure you, you will be well compensated for your work."

Carth waved that aside. "I'd like to know what you're planning, and what you're planning to do about this. I mean, my partners and I have been chased all over Sluis Van, and they'll _keep_ chasing us until we're either dead or captured, and I don't like either of those options. Credits won't do a damned bit of good to a dead man."

"Your ship is ready. You may leave at any time, with the full balance of the amount we agreed upon transferred to your account, in addition to a bonus for your work," Lady Versenne said. "I consider our contract to be completed."

_But I don't_ want _to leave!_ Dustil suppressed the panic that made him want to jump out of his seat and yell at his father.

_Never let them see you shake... but do let them see you angry._

Carth glanced at Revan, a look of unsurprised resignation on his face. "But _we_ don't consider the contract to be completed yet," Revan said.

Dustil breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Besides, I don't want any of these guys coming after us out of nowhere after we're gone from Sluis Van," Carth added.

"They might hold a grudge, would they?" Captain Morin said, eyebrow raised.

Unexpectedly, Carth grinned, his teeth a shining, bright gleam in his dark-complexioned face. "I think they might. I can't imagine why."

To Dustil's amazement, the captain's lips twitched for a brief instant.

"Your question is a valid one, and one we must answer," Lady Versenne said, breaking the moment. "We have sent an anonymous report to the police and appropriate Sluis Van authorities. Later, we will also send the second man you captured, after our interrogations of him are complete. We will keep watch on the Boro and Sayir facilities, and monitor their ships and shuttles. Beyond that, however..." - she spread her hands again - "I cannot interfere with another House's affairs. They are not doing anything illegal, so far, and without more concrete proof, the Sluissi cannot intervene, either.

"I can offer you the protection of my House. There are ample accommodations here, or in House Vosaryk itself."

Carth put his mug down on a nearby table and folded his arms. "I hate to bring this up, but it wasn't very safe for your bodyguard or that other prisoner here, was it?"

Captain Morin's face hardened, a muscle jumping in his jaw, but said nothing. Lady Versenne inhaled sharply, and didn't answer for a moment. When she spoke, her tone and face were neutral, betraying none of the anger Dustil could feel from her.

Dustil froze, appalled. What was his father trying to do, provoke them into tossing them out an airlock? It wasn't quite an insult, but it had to be a real sore point Carth was poking at. Carth was sitting on the far side of Revan, otherwise Dustil would've given his father a good kick in the shin.

"What my partner is trying to say, Lady," Revan interjected, "is that the greatest protection you can give us is sharing what information you've uncovered, especially with the new data we stole for you. You'll have to forgive Nasi's rudeness, he's a man of few words." Carth gave Revan a dry look for that last.

"I see," Lady Versenne said, her frown clearing, and looked up at Captain Morin, making a _go ahead_ gesture.

"My Lady, some of this information involves Sluis Van planetary security," Captain Morin said, bending down to speak. He glanced at the three of them, too quickly for Dustil to see any emotion, whether disapproval or disgust. "We cannot let it fall into the hands of offworlders!"

Carth glared at the captain, his brows lowering into a ferocious scowl. "Hey, we put our lives on the line for you before we even knew who you were, Lady."

"And that act presupposes trust on our part, however altruistic and honorable it seemed?" Captain Morin retorted, implying all sorts of things Dustil didn't like with that 'seemed'.

Lady Versenne raised her hand, stopping the incipient argument. "I acknowledge the debt." Captain Morin's jaw tightened, his hand twitching towards his blaster in reflexive action to Carth's scowl. Bekim looked anxious, eyes darting from Carth to Lady Versenne to the guards at the walls, as though reassuring himself of their safety.

"Seems to me like you owe us," Carth said.

"While my partner has again put it crudely, it is true that we do need something more than credits now," Revan said, putting her cup aside with a tiny click on the platter. She shot a sharp look at Captain Morin. "You know something." She turned to Lady Versenne. "You've trusted us this far, Lady. _Your_ life isn't the only one at stake now."

Sitting back, Lady Versenne met Revan's eyes without flinching; Dustil was impressed. "No, my life is not the only one at stake. But I remind you that the lives of the employees and retainers on this shipyard are also at stake. If I reveal information that is possibly critical to Sluis Van's security, I risk not only them, but the rest of the planet's population.

"I understand that withholding information from you, especially of this sort, is unpalateable." Lady Versenne met each of their eyes, lingering a bit more on Dustil.

_I can only wish._

"And if you wish to terminate our contract for that reason, you are well within your rights, because I cannot and will not reveal confidential information." Lady Versenne took a credit chit Bekim handed to her, and placed it on her desk with a quiet click that seemed to echo through the room.

With great deliberation, Revan picked it up and glanced at the amount, showing it to Carth. Carth pursed his lips in a silent whistle, his eyes widening. When Revan showed it to Dustil, he couldn't suppress the gasp that escaped at seeing just how much Revan held in her hand. He'd never seen so many credits gathered in one place; it was not only the payment agreed upon, there was also a very substantial bonus indeed.

Dustil looked at Revan and Carth; his father looked as awed as Dustil, but also resigned. With rising hope, Dustil watched Carth sigh deeply and shake his head with a _See what I do for you people_ expression on his face. Revan turned to Dustil, eyebrows raised in questin.

The offering of a choice to him threw Dustil for a loop; he hadn't thought either of the others would bother to ask him. In fact, he'd expected his father to refuse and leave, although not without a fight from Dustil.

Revan's small cough told him he'd taken too long in answering. Dustil shook his head at Revan, who gave him a knowing smirk identical to the one on Carth's face, and he had to resist the childish urge to stick his tongue out at both of them. _Damn all know-it-all Jedi and fathers, anyway_, he thought, his cheeks heating.

Revan laid the credit chit back down on the desk. Lady Versenne's face was alight with hope, eyes wide at seeing their refusal. Captain Morin and Bekim looked grudgingly impressed.

"Your new terms are unacceptable, Lady," Revan said, sitting back into the cushions of her chair. "We refuse to terminate."

The smile that appeared on Lady Versenne's face was blinding, dazzling Dustil. "I am... very glad to hear that, Captain. Thank you."

The tension between them broke with her words; Carth unfolded his arms and sat back, stretching out his legs, and Captain Morin clasped his hands behind his back, away from the blaster on his hip. Dustil was only just aware of tight-wound muscles in his back and neck easing down.

_I guess we're _all_ jumpy and spooked._ A bad idea when there were weapons in nervous hands.

Lady Versenne started to say something further, but Bekim leaned down and whispered something into her ear.

Clapping her hands together, Lady Versenne said, "But we have spoken enough about business. Let us adjourn for the moment; our meal is ready."

Since Dustil's stomach was growling like an angry krayt dragon and attacking his backbone, he wasn't going to refuse.

They all rose at Lady Versenne's hand wave, and as they followed her to a familiar viewscreen, Dustil looked Carth in the eye and started pulling off his gloves. Carth gave him a rueful grin and started doing the same, but shook an admonishing finger at him, _Remember to put them back on after._ Dustil sighed and nodded, but rolled his eyes.

Captain Morin excused himself, saying something about interrogations and duties, though Dustil suspected he had been excluded to prevent shop talk.

The smell of old leather, wood and spices puffed out on a wave of warm air against Dustil's face when the viewscreen slid aside, mingling with the very welcome and delicious aromas of lunch.

Dustil was surprised to see only two guards inside, both just out of earshot of any conversation, so that they were nearly alone with Lady Versenne and Bekim. Carth scowled at the captain's retreating back as he rubbed at his weaponless hips.

It was a measure of Lady Versenne's trust that there were so few guards, and without her chief bodyguard inside with her. Captain Morin must've had an aneurysm at receiving the orders. _Too bad for him._

The content, euphoric feeling that had come over him when Revan and Carth decided to keep working for Lady Versenne, and the lady's happy reaction to their announcement, vanished when he saw the formal place settings set out on the table. Dustil had to stifle a powerful urge to gibber in panic.

_So much for Revan's guess about them not putting out the fancy silverware for us scruffy smugglers._

It was odd, but a glance at Lady Versenne told Dustil the array of utensils puzzled and baffled her as much as they did him. Revan's eyebrows were raised, and Carth was scratching his head.

Lady Versenne shot Bekim a questioning look; Bekim looked stubborn and mulish, but it was obvious he wasn't going to say anything in front of outsiders. Dustil shared a questioning glance with Revan and his father, both of them returning shrugs of incomprehension. _What the hell is going on?_

Carth was staring at the silverware, as if wondering if they had poison coated on them. The thought was amusing enough to dispel some of the panic Dustil felt, but only some of it.

Since she couldn't order a change of utensils without looking stupid or overfussy, Lady Versenne motioned them to take seats calmly enough, but Dustil could feel her exasperation.

_Well, I guess the Force was with me when I decided to study table etiquette. Here's your chance..._

They sat only after Bekim had seated Lady Versenne at the same Telosian darkwood table they'd eaten breakfast on only - was it just yesterday morning? Except that breakfast had been much simpler, Dustil thought as he stared at the glittering utensils.

If Lady Versenne couldn't back out of this surprise formal setting, neither could they, but Revan looked unconcerned, and Carth was admiring the table, neither looking at all worried. Carth looked up and gave him a consoling wink, perhaps seeing the look of naked panic on Dustil's face.

Instead of sinking further into nervous terror, Dustil thought about _why_ they'd received this dubious honor. His eye fell on Bekim. It had to be the servitor at fault; he was the one in charge of setting everything up, and Lady Versenne had turned to him first.

The question that nagged Dustil was: why? None of them had offended the old man, as far as he knew; in fact, Bekim had been quite grateful that they'd rescued Lady Versenne from her kidnappers. A glance at Bekim's bland expression told Dustil nothing, although he could feel some sort of disapproval directed at them, and at Dustil in particular.

Afraid that the scruffy young smuggler would make unwelcome advances? Or was it because Bekim disapproved of smugglers in general? Maybe his father was right to suspect Bekim.

The arrival of the first course interrupted Dustil's ruminations, the delicious scents driving all rational thought from his head. The elderly servitor deftly served a fragrant soup, just as Carth had said the first course always was.

Dustil picked up the appropriate utensil with growing confidence; after live snails, everything else was pretty damned tame in comparison.

Carth, who was sitting across from him, slowly took up a spoon, but it wasn't the correct one. Perplexed, Dustil shot him a puzzled frown, wondering if he had picked the wrong utensil after all. Just what did Father think he was doing? Carth knew what to use correctly even better than Dustil.

A mischievous light glittered in Carth's eyes, and he winked; Dustil tried to decide if he should feel alarmed at seeing that ominous glint. _What the hell is he doing?_ Revan hid her mouth with a napkin.

The first course would set the tone for the rest of the meal; each time, Carth would deliberately use the wrong utensil. Dustil was hard put not to laugh, especially when Carth just picked any old thing with a sharp point instead of a fork to eat his roast bruallki.

It was impossible for Lady Versenne and Bekim _not_ to notice this; both of them stared at Carth with horrified and fascinated bemusement, as one might at a man who has arrived at a formal ball stark naked. Revan's eyes seemed to have permanent crinkles at their corners, and she, too, chose the wrong silverware to use, although not with the same calculation Carth did in picking the most ridiculous utensil possible. Dustil nearly choked when his father used the snail-prying spoon to spear a hapless nerf cutlet to his plate. He didn't know how his father could keep a straight face.

If Dustil hesitated or was about to pick the wrong spoon or fork, Carth would cough in warning and point to the right one on his side of the table with a subtle motion. This didn't happen very often, but Dustil was grateful for the surreptitious prompting, even if he would never admit it. It did happen often enough that Bekim offered a small box of cough drops to Carth, who refused them with a wry smile.

It struck Dustil halfway through the third course that his father - and Revan - were embarrassing themselves on purpose, doing all of this just to make him look good in front of Lady Versenne. Dustil stared at Carth, who just smiled under the cover of his glass of wine, and raised his thumb in the pilot's gesture of 'everything okay'.

They didn't talk about their current troubles during lunch by unspoken agreement; instead, they talked about the Bazaar and its ending event, Bazaar's End, harmless small talk that never touched on thwarted assassinations and murders on the station.

A strange case of security enveloped Dustil in the warm, pleasant study, his stomach full of excellent food and wine. He shook off the illusion, scolding himself; there were no such things as safe places in the galaxy, not on Telos, not on Coruscant, and especially not on the shipyard. _It's the wine talking._ He put his half-full glass down and took up a glass of water instead, looking at the other two.

Revan was in an animated discussion with Lady Versenne over the costs of exporting ships outsystem, and Carth had unbuttoned his collar, it being pretty warm for a man wearing heavy armor under his clothes. Dustil wore only light armor, but it wasn't nearly as thick as his father's heavy exoskeleton. He was also not surprised to see Carth participating in the discussion, since starships was one of his favorite subjects; Carth might even be memorizing some of this to send to OFI.

_Now, this would all be perfect if we got rid of some of the rest of the bodies. Starting with Father and Revan._ Life just wasn't fair.

Lady Versenne looked as relaxed as Dustil felt, grateful, perhaps, for this interlude from her work and the ever-present dangers of being who she was. She'd been sneaking little glances at him all during lunch, some of which he'd intercepted while sneaking his own peeks. Both of them had looked away, the unexpected intimacy heating his cheeks, and not because of the wine.

Like all such pleasant interludes, it ended all too soon.

Putting down her fork, Lady Versenne sighed. "While I have enjoyed speaking with you, I am afraid the duties of my office will no longer wait."

Dustil rose from his plush chair, struggling to extricate himself from its luxurious and comfortable embrace, stifling a sigh of regret.

"Thank you for the lunch, Lady," Revan said with a bow.

Lady Versenne waved this away as if it were of no account, which, to her, it probably wasn't. "It is a small enough thing, hardly repaying even a fraction of what you have done in my service."

While the two women were talking, Carth slapped Dustil on the arm with his gloves. Dustil rolled his eyes, but took the very broad hint and pulled on his gloves.

When they left the study, they found Captain Morin waiting for them. Lady Versenne nodded for him to speak.

"I have conducted a preliminary investigation with the new prisoner, but so far, he has said nothing we do not already know," Captain Morin said. "This one did not have any artificial allergies to our truth serum drugs, at least, but it also means he was not very important." This news seemed to surprise no one.

"Perhaps we should discuss what Nasi learned a little more closely with you, Captain," Revan suggested.

"What?" Carth said when Revan nudged him. "Oh, yeah," his father said, his eyes darting from Lady Versenne to Dustil, his mouth twitching before he put on a somber look.

Dustil's heart leapt up in wild hope; they were going to leave him alone with Lady Versenne! For a given value of 'alone', anyway, what with the ring of guards at the walls, and Bekim, who had an odd look of resignation on his chubby face.

"I do have some questions, Lady," Captain Morin admitted.

Lady Versenne waved her permission. "If Captain Kera'al and her partner is willing, by all means, ask your questions."

The captain led his father and Revan off to the holoprojector, their heads bent together in low-voiced discussion.

Instead of moving on to her desk, Lady Versenne dismissed Bekim and walked to the far end of the room, in front of the viewscreens. After a slight hesitation, Dustil followed her. Bekim left them, taking a tray of refreshments, reluctance making him drag his feet, eyes darting from his lady to Dustil and back; Dustil could feel the servitor's disapproval more strongly than ever.

"Stiller?"

Dustil nearly snapped to attention. "Yes?" he said, proud that he hadn't stuttered that simple syllable.

To Dustil's complete surprise, Lady Versenne blushed. "There has been a, a question on my mind."

"Uh, go ahead and ask."

"Are you... has your captain assigned any duties to you yet, now that your ship has been released from the shipyard?" Lady Versenne said. She stared down at her clasped hands, out at the view of space, anywhere but Dustil.

_Duties? What duties?_ "Uh, no?" Dustil said, uncertain as to why she was asking. And why hadn't she just asked Revan?

"Ah." Lady Versenne took a deep breath, perhaps for courage, and said, "Would you like to go to Bazaar's End with me?" The words tumbled out all in a rush, so that it took Dustil a second to understand what she'd just said.

When he did, Dustil was shocked speechless for a moment, then he felt his face burn. His mouth opened and shut like a landed coinfish, and said to his horror, "What about your, uh, bodyguards?"

_Why did I say that? I wanted to say, "Yeah, sure!"_

"I will be allowed only one bodyguard at Bazaar's End. If... if you would like to attend... it would, it would please me to invite you to go as my," - Lady Versenne faltered, then went on - "as my escort."

"Why me?" Dustil blurted, then mentally castigated himself for his rudeness. _Don't look a gift dewback in the mouth, idiot._ His blush deepened.

"I - I am... not sure," Lady Versenne confessed, her fair skin pink from her own blush. "Perhaps... perhaps it is because you have saved me twice, both times at the cost of your own life, for no reward." She looked at the ring of bodyguards. "My people are sworn to protect me with their lives, but you have sworn no such oaths." She looked up at him. "Why?"

_Because you're really pretty, smart, and brave, and, and..._ Dustil stopped his mental babbling by sheer force of will. With great daring, Dustil reached out and took her hand, cursing his father for making him wear gloves, so that he didn't know what her skin felt like. The white silk of her robe brushed across the exposed skin of his wrist, seeming as ephemeral and insubstantial as mist, but it almost made him flinch back in surprise.

"Because, because there are things in the galaxy worth protecting, because, because they're beautiful," Dustil stammered, cursing himself for being tongue-tied when what he needed was suave eloquence. He bet his father never stammered when _he_ talked to a woman.

"Because, uh, the galaxy would be that much poorer if they were gone," Dustil finished. _By the Force, I hope that didn't sound as stupid and sappy as I think it did._ He braced himself for her reaction, more afraid of her ridicule than the blasters in the hands of her guards.

_Priorities straight, check. Not._

Lady Versenne's hand had stiffened in his, but when he was about to let her go, afraid he'd overstepped, she turned her hand and squeezed lightly, and her silver eyes blazed. Dustil felt blinded.

"I... I do not believe anyone has ever said anything like that to me before." Lady Versenne's lips puffed in a nervous laugh as she looked down at their joined hands, then back up at him, her cheeks turning a rather adorable shade of pink.

Dustil ignored the disapproving gaze he could feel pressing against his back, and tried to untie his tongue in a mouth gone dry. _Well, now I know why Bekim's been acting like such a polite prick. But who cares?_ Relief poured through him, but wonder and bemused happiness made his knees weak, something he thought only happened in holovids, because she hadn't laughed at him.

_And, and she... she likes me, too! She likes me!_ The thought made him grin like a mad fool. Dizzy and drunk with euphoric elation, Dustil did something that was probably insane in the presence of all those guards and their blaster rifles.

He leaned down and kissed Lady Versenne, before his nerve failed him and his cautious common sense returned. It was quick, too quick, just pressing his lips against her soft ones, but at least he didn't bump his nose against hers or miss his target.

Dimly, Dustil heard the sound of something hitting the plush carpet floor with a dull thud, and Revan's voice: "Oh, damn, how clumsy of me. So sorry, I hope that stain can be washed out!"

Over Lady Versenne's head, Dustil saw Bekim bending down to retrieve the fallen cup. All eyes had turned to Revan for the moment, who was still apologizing for spilling her tea on the floor. Carth was looking directly at Dustil, though, and he grinned, flashing Dustil a thumbs-up. At least his father wasn't cheering and waving pennants like he used to at Dustil's hoverball games, the few times he was able to attend on leave. Dustil blushed.

Revan must've spilled her tea on purpose, as a distraction; he was very embarrassed by the fact that she must've been watching him, but also grudgingly grateful she'd done it.

_Dammit, I'm supposed to hate her, not feel grateful for anything she's done!_

Blood pounded in his ears like Wookiee drums as he straightened up, and his face felt like it had been dipped in carbonite, but Dustil didn't regret that spontaneous kiss at all. _No accident this time, ha!_

Lady Versenne's free hand flew to her mouth, and she stopped breathing for a moment, her eyes wide as she stared up at him. "I, I... oh." She didn't look horrified, or about to call the guards to blast him for taking such liberties; he was much more afraid of the former than the latter.

To Dustil's infinite relief and delight, a bemused smile turned up Lady Versenne's lips, and she touched her mouth with her fingers again, as if she couldn't quite believe what had happened to them. _Oh, good, she's not gonna have me spaced out the nearest airlock... But if she did, I'd die happy._

The pink blush in Lady Versenne's cheeks had spread to her entire face, deepening to a rose color. She couldn't seem to say anything, but that was okay, because Dustil was a bit deficient in the vocabulary department himself right now. All he could think of was how he could improve on that first - second? - try. He doubted there was a section in _Par Ontham's Guide to Etiquette_ that could help.

The realization that he'd just kissed a girl while his father was watching hit him then, and his face now flooded with volcanic heat. It also occurred to him that he'd never answered her question. To cover himself, Dustil said, "I, uh, um, I'd love to go to, to Bazaar's End with you." He rubbed the back of his neck, and resisted the urge to laugh, or worse, giggle.

Lady Versenne's face lit with a bright smile at hearing this, and she looked relieved and bemused, as though she hadn't thought he'd accept, or hadn't been certain of his answer. What fool would refuse? Dustil thought, but he appreciated that lack of unthinking arrogance from her. Some other noble or wealthy personage would've expected his acceptance without thought, but not her.

"Oh, that, that's wonderful." Her hand squeezed his. "Here." Lady Versenne pressed a datacard into his free hand. Dustil slipped it into his trouser pocket as casually as he could; it rattled against the dice Revan had given him.

_Maybe they did bring me luck, after all._

A very light and delicate touch on his mind warned Dustil that the others were approaching. With great reluctance, he let go of Lady Versenne's hand, but not before giving it another gentle squeeze. He was glad now for the gloves, because his palms were sweating. Dustil was almost afraid to turn around and see the knowing grins he just _knew_ were on Revan's and Carth's faces.

Captain Morin coughed, and Lady Versenne turned, her face schooled once more into demure calm, her hands folded into her wide sleeves, and shifting away from Dustil. Dustil pretended interest in the view, because his face still felt hot, and rubbed his hands together.

"Have you learned anything more, Captain?" Lady Versenne asked.

"Only confirmation of some of my hypotheses, my Lady," Captain Morin answered. "We may have less time than we thought."

Dustil turned around at hearing the grim tone of the captain's voice. Carth and Revan both looked grave, while Bekim looked very worried.

Dismay flitted across Lady Versenne's face, despite her control. "I see... I will think on this, but perhaps you should make sure the shipyard's defenses are fully operational. I expect a full report and review of evacuation and emergency procedures for all employees at all properties, and operational readiness by the end of today."

"Aye, my Lady." Captain Morin bowed.

Lady Versenne turned to Carth and Revan. "I thank you again for your help. I am afraid my duties do not permit me to host you as I should, but please, avail yourselves of what modest amenities we have here."

Revan and Carth bowed at hearing this clear dismissal, Dustil following a beat behind, hoping no one had noticed. It was probably only in his imagination that Lady Versenne's datacard seemed to be burning a hole in his trousers, otherwise things were going to get really drafty and mortifying in a moment. Captain Morin motioned a guard to retrieve the box with their weapons in it, and they took a few minutes to don their gear again. Carth looked relieved the minute he had strapped his blasters and swords back on, even if the guards looked nervous.

As they left, Dustil heard Lady Versenne call the captain. "Captain, what do you suppose happened to Nasi's neck?" she asked in tones of genuine puzzlement.

Dustil and Revan had sudden fits of coughing. _Oh, if she only knew... That might make a good story to tell her at the party._

"Bitten, it looks like, my Lady." Captain Morin's voice was grave, perhaps overly so. "Violent characters, those mercs."

"What's so damned funny?" Carth demanded when they were outside and out of earshot of the door guards.

Dustil's response was rendered incoherent by laughter. Even Revan's Jedi serenity had deserted her, her shoulders shaking with silent giggles.

"I probably don't wanna know, do I," Carth muttered, throwing up his hands. His irritation faded into a sly grin, making him look more evil than ever. Dustil's face flamed again. Revan's smirk was almost worse, but only almost.

_Here it comes, the elbow..._

Carth gave Dustil a nudge in the side that somehow suggested all manner of things. Dustil rolled his eyes, and wished he'd taken the coloring treatment to hide his fair skin.

"So what were you talking about so, um, intensely?" Carth asked, all innocent nonchalance.

Just how did his father manage to sneak a knowing smirk into the words? And how did Revan exude one without actually doing it? Dustil kept imagining he heard them snickering; he supposed it could be worse, since no one had cracked a dirty joke. Yet.

Dustil mumbled an answer.

"What was that? I didn't quite hear you," Carth said with way too much cheer.

Resisting the urge to stomp on the carpet, Dustil instead glared at his father, whose innocent look fit poorly with his disguise. Revan had the unmitigated gall to start whistling a love song.

"She... she invited me to the Bazaar's End party," Dustil said through gritted teeth, enunciating each word with exaggerated care.

The corridor seemed to light up with the intense brightness of a flash grenade from Carth's huge grin. "That's great!" He gave Dustil a congratulatory slap on the back, almost staggering him.

Dustil couldn't hold on to his irritation; his mouth kept curling up into a foolish grin. "Yeah."

"We'll have to get you all dressed up," Carth said, looking Dustil up and down. "There's no way they're gonna let you in the front door like that."

His father's words hit Dustil with the realization that he hadn't even thought of that.

"Oh, no..." Dustil clutched his head, pulling at his hair. "I don't have anything to wear!" he wailed, mentally gibbering in panic. None of the clothes he'd brought were suitable, not even the ones he'd intended to wear to diplomatic receptions. The fashions on Sluis Van were so different that he'd stand out like a laigrek in a crowd of gizka. Mortification wouldn't even come close to what he'd feel if he showed up like that. Lady Versenne would never speak to him again if he made her a laughingstock. He cursed his vivid imagination, which insisted on showing him a room full of dignitaries and nobles laughing at him.

"Hey, calm down, don't panic," Carth soothed, patting Dustil's shoulder.

_Easy for you to say, Father, _you've_ got a uniform!_ Nobody expected soldiers to have any choice in what to wear; they were stuck with whatever the military gave them.

"So we'll just have to take you shopping. No big deal, right?" Carth's reasonable suggestion calmed Dustil down a bit.

"Yeah, that's right, there's nothing to worry about. I'll just come along and make sure Mr. Fashion Disaster doesn't steer you wrong," Revan put in.

"Hey!" Carth protested. "What do you mean, 'fashion disaster'?"

Dustil saw the chance for some payback, even if Revan had been the one to give him an opening. "Yeah, you can't tell me that orange jacket you like so much is good taste, Father."

Carth spluttered, "It is _not_ orange! It's, it's rust colored, dammit! What's wrong with my jacket?"

"Nothing... except you only stand out like an _orange_ bantha in a crowd, flyboy," Revan replied, smirking.

"And it looks like rancors and kath hounds have been using it as a chewtoy - and litterbox," Dustil said, warming to his subject.

"That's because it has," Carth muttered. "And worse things," he added, rubbing at his left arm. "Anyway, it's not _my_ clothes we have to talk about, it's _yours_."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah." Dustil scratched his head. "But there're still people after us, so how are we going to go shopping?"

"Uhm, you're right." Carth unconsciously put a hand on the butt of a blaster. "I guess we'll just have to deal with it; worse comes to worst, we can always order over the com. I guess we need to pick up some fancy stuff for ourselves, too."

"What for?" Dustil asked, puzzled.

"We're coming with you, of course," Carth said.

"_What?_" Dustil yelped, halting in the middle of the corridor as he stared at his father in horror. "Whaddya mean, you're coming with me?" His shock was turning into anger at the thought that his father felt he needed to drop Dustil off like he was a little kid going to a slumber party. And not only drop him off, his father intended to _stay_.

Carth held up both hands and attempted to soothe Dustil. "No, no, we're not coming _with_ you with you - we'll go separately!"

"Hm, that's a good idea, actually... I can get a feel for the political lay of the land there," Revan said.

"_Neither_ of you were invited," Dustil pointed out, grinding his teeth. "Why would you wanna go, anyway, even if you _were_ invited? Not that anyone invited you."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll think of something," Carth said, eyeing Revan.

"Well, I do have a few tricks left..." Revan smiled.

"I'm sure you do," Carth said before turning back to Dustil, and became more serious. "We're going because that party is going to be full of nobles and politicians and, and all sorts of important people, and a big fat target like that is going to be mighty tempting to any assassins... or anyone else looking to make trouble. And that girl's gotten more than her fair share of assassination attempts."

"Oh." _Blast. I hate it when Father's right._ Dustil sighed and continued to walk. At least he wouldn't have to show up and introduce Carth as his father, or some other horrible embarrassing thing. He glowered at Carth.

Carth got that stubborn look on his face again. "And there's no way I'll let you go without us. But don't worry, we'll be discreet. You won't even know we're there."

Dustil was very skeptical about that. _Uh-huh. Like I won't know there's an orange bantha in the room?_

"You're okay with crashing the party without a legal invite?" _I can't believe my self-righteous father is actually planning to crash the party with forged invitations. I don't think I ever really knew him..._ Infiltrating House Boro to get information that might help the Republic was one thing, but crashing a party just to help protect Dustil was another.

Carth shrugged and smirked. "It's for a good cause."

"You're a flaming hypocrite, Father."

"Guilty as charged," Carth said, unrepentant.

"And you look like a constipated firaxan shark when you try to act innocent," Dustil added.

Revan had to cover her mouth with both hands.

"What? I do not! Er, do I?" Carth looked startled.

Before Dustil could elaborate, a door opened further down the corridor, a knot of dark blue-clad sentients spilling out, and they had to stop to stand aside and let them pass. There were two humans, a Sullustan, and an Aqualish arguing loudly with another human, and all of them had captain rank markings. It was the last man who caught Dustil's attention; there was something very familiar about him. The earring in the man's left ear winked in the light, a tiny chain connecting three pieces swinging with the motions of his head.

"Father, that guy..." Dustil said, tapping Carth's arm.

Revan looked perplexed, looking back and forth between Carth, Dustil and the uniformed man, who was walking slowly with the Aqualish, both of them making sweeping, angry gestures. The other captains had moved ahead, leaving the two stragglers a few paces behind.

Carth frowned at the man Dustil was pointing at. "That's just a Corellian, Dustil. Only Corellian men wear earrings like that -" He cut himself off when the captain turned, giving them a clear view of his left profile and the thin, jagged scar that reached from his jaw to his cheekbone.

Dustil had the rare satisfaction of seeing his father flabbergasted, his mouth hanging open with shocked surprise. "It's him, isn't it?"

"Yeah..." Carth breathed. "I'll be damned..."

"Will someone tell me what you're talking about?" Revan said, the tone of her voice suggesting she'd start shredding ears with a dull Telosian soup fork soon if they didn't. "Do you know that man, Carth?"

"Yeah, that's... that's Dar Ges," Carth said. "An old friend."

* * *

With thanks to Prisoner 24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback.

Apologies for the long delay, guys. Work's been hectic, and this being a Dustil chapter, it was doubly painful and difficult to write. Hopefully I'll get the next chapter up sooner. Thanks for sticking with me!

Question for you readers: what do you think of Lady Versenne so far? This is my first time EVAR writing a romance (badly, I think, so far), and it's probably insane of me to write a romance while also writing a mystery AND a conspiracy. Any and all constructive comments will be received with gratitude.

Also, do you guys think I should stop CtT after I finish Sluis Van, and start up a new fic with their further adventures? I realize a fic of over 300k words is a little intimidating, so...

Kazic: Thanks, and no, no pushing Dustil off cliffs. Dammit, don't tempt me.

Mystress Daedra: Send me an e-mail if you want smut. And thanks. Introducing the Exile? No, but I'm thinking of doing a flashback. Heheh. Those of you who chat with me in kotorff IRC will know what I'm talking about.

snackfiend101: Thanks. And he _is_ a 'raging Telos angst boy'. I just hope that's not the way he is _all the time_, because then I really would kill him off.

Crazy Miss Sarah: Bah, I don't like Revans who're in their twenties, which would make them teenagers during the Mandalorian Wars. What's wrong with an older, more mature Revan, huh? Okay, so she doesn't act mature most of the time, but it's the principle of the thing.

Menolly Onasi: Congrats on starting your own fanfic! Heh, Carth can be brilliant, yeah.

Prisoner 24601: You're no doubt sighing and shaking your head because I didn't take your advice, which will no doubt come back to bite me on the ass. And then you'll say, "I told you so." Heh.

MoonStarr: Heh, Telosian soup is like a thick stew. Something I imagined hearty colonists would eat out on the frontier. They grow'em big on Telos, no:D

VMorticia: Revan did that on purpose just to disgust them. Who says only men can be pigs, eh? I've been strewing red herrings and clues with wild abandon, yanno, so I'll leave it up to you to guess which is which, alright? Hehee. fanfiction takes out double hyphens (what I use as dashes).

GeekGirl2: Heh, would Revan really be that evil? On second thought, maybe she would... I once had to drink bumblebee tea. That's right, tea with _real_ bees floating in it. So live snails are really rather tame. About Telos: well, perhaps you're right. Dustil still wouldn't care about the particulars, though.

Feza's twin: Thanks! I hope I'm not boring people with the political stuff and exposition... And, no, I don't wanna know about your adventures in cuisine...

ladyinthetower: Hey, thanks. Yeah, there're lots of Pratchett homage bits in my fic. I dunno if my Carth's all that similar to Vimes, though. I'm sorry Dustil comes across to you like that; I realize I'm not exactly the greatest writer of that character out there, and I know lots of people can write him better. Just check out my favorites and my C2 community for them. A great deal of the plot was planned out months ago, and I'll scan in my notes and flow chart after this is all over, but some good ideas pop up much later, like Revan possibly being at fault for the whole situation on Sluis Van. And thanks for the compliments; it's my hope that I've improved, but this close to, I really am not a good judge of myself.

Krazed Kaioshin Fangirl, Aqua Phoenix1, Josh: Thanks!

Kathleen: Hey, thanks. I think I've written over 320k (about the length of _two_ standard novels!) words for this fic so far, and I think that's as good a pledge as any that I'll continue writing this until I'm finished. I'm sorry you think that way about Dustil, and I'm doing my best to not having angsty Dustil every chapter, and mitigate it with fluff and fun. Well, girls would be okay with the birth control crack, I think, but Dustil's a guy, and coming from Dad's girlfriend? well, bit hard to swallow, yanno.

bluecaterpillar: Gosh, in two days? You're a fast reader. And you only left me one review? Bah. :) Thanks; it's all my hope that I've improved, so that's good to hear. Zahn's... and alright writer, I suppose. I think Bujold is much, much better, but SW fans will probably lynch me for not worshipping the Zahn. I didn't even know he had his characters say, "Point." Lady Versenne's about 18. Was Lord Khyrohn talking about her? Maybe. Maybe not. Heh. Well, my chapter's out, and Prisoner24601 has finished chapter four of "Chasing Redemption". As of this writing, she's in the process of proofing it again before she hands it over to me.

AzuriaZyfire: Thanks! Hope you enjoyed the smut. (You still haven't gotten back to me with a review for the second one...)

Mortalis: Heh, thanks, glad you enjoyed. I'm toying with whether or not to write the whole Carth reaction after the joke bit, myself. Perhaps in a flashback in Ch. 60.


	60. Confidences

**Chapter 60: Confidences**

Carth felt like he'd been hit in the back of his head with a capital ship.

All sorts of memories crashed through his mind like ocean waves as he stared at the back of the brown-haired man's head, who was walking away slowly, oblivious to their scrutiny, engrossed as he was in the argument. Both sentients were resplendent in what Carth guessed to be House Vosaryk's dress uniform: midnight-blue tunic and trousers, with gold trim and side piping. The other captains shook their heads at what was apparently a commonplace occurrence, and moved ahead several paces.

How many years had it been since he'd last seen Dar? At least seven. How the time just flew. _He looks like he's done well for himself. I'm... I'm glad._

Dustil and Revan were staring at him, waiting for him to do something, and he couldn't, because he was torn between wanting to run up to Dar and staying where he was. He hadn't felt this ambivalent since meeting Jordo on Tatooine.

"Who is this Dar Ges?" Revan asked as she activated her white noise generator. "You know him, obviously."

"Yeah..." Carth ran a hand through his hair, still not quite able to believe his eyes. "He's my best friend, has been for... Force, has it been seventeen years?"

"Wouldn't you like to say hello or something to him?" Dustil said, jerking his thumb at Dar's retreating back.

"Well, yeah, of course I do, but he's never met Nasi before," Carth said, rubbing a finger on one facial scar. "If I did, I'd be blowing my - our - cover." But he really wanted to go over there, and intense curiosity as to what his friend had been up to since the last time Carth saw him was eating him up inside.

Dar was a captain now, by the tabs he saw on Dar's collar, even if it was in a merchant fleet and not a military one; there had to be a story behind that, since Dar had been a half-crippled mess seven years ago, both from grief and his physical wounds.

"If he's a captain in House Vosaryk... he might know things Lady Versenne can't tell us," Revan said. "Things he might be willing to tell you, Carth."

Revan was right; if Dar had captain rank, he had to know a hell of a lot more than they did now. Dar had to have been here for a few years, while they've only been here for a couple of weeks.

_But... can I trust Dar?_ _What if he's in on this conspiracy, too?_ whispered a voice in the back of Carth's head. The bottom seemed to drop out from beneath his feet at the thought. Dar Ges would never do something like that...

_You also thought Saul would never betray the Republic... or you, Onasi._ It had been years since he'd last seen Dar, and Carth of all people knew how a person could change for the worse.

Carth stood there, frozen in a moment of rare indecision, the questions circling around and around in his head. Then he took ahold of himself, calling on years of discipline, and broke the dilemma down into parts like he would any other military problem.

_Okay, can I trust him?_ Carth thought about it, and considered Dar's character, doing his best to regard him with as much dispassion and impartiality as he could when Dar was his best friend. He'd known Dar for a long time, longer than Saul, and he knew that Dar had always been open and uncomplicated, with a quick temper and unambitious. Dar could never hide something of this magnitude from anyone; he was a terrible gossip and could never hide his feelings with any real success.

_Kinda like you, huh, Onasi?_

The issue of trust resolved, Carth turned to the problem of breaking cover to talk to Dar. Did he just want to chat with Dar for old times' sake? They were in dire need of information that Lady Versenne had just refused to share with them, information that could be vital to tracking down the conspiracy within Sluis Van. Information that Dar could give them.

It would be worth revealing his real identity for that, but did they dare involve Dar in this, when they already had an unknown quantity of sentients intent on capturing - or killing them? But Dar lived and worked here, and he'd be involved one way or the other; sooner than anyone would like, if they didn't get to the bottom of this. And if he was interpreting Dar's _min min_ earring correctly, he had family here, too. Dar himself would get involved if he knew, whether Carth liked it or not, heedless of any danger.

Carth chewed his lip and glanced down at Revan. If he revealed his identity, Revan's cover was imperiled, and he honestly didn't know how Dar would react to the former Dark Lord. _Although if the reaction of the rest of the galaxy is any indication, he'd blast first and ask questions later._ There was no reason to reveal Revan's true identity, and every reason not to.

But Dar had an uncanny way of winkling information out of the unwary, and making connections on very little data. It was what made him such a good - or bad, depending on how you looked at it - gossip. _I guess we'll make that hyperspace jump when we get to it._ Carth didn't think he could hide Dustil, but there was no reason to hide him like he would have to with Revan.

"Can he be trusted?" Revan said.

"I, I think so," Carth said. "I've known him for a long time, under all sorts of circumstances."

"I think this is the best break we're likely to get," Revan said, looking after the captains. "But I don't know him like you do, Carth. It's up to you."

Dustil shrugged when Carth glanced at him. "Don't look at me, I dunno him either."

Carth took a deep breath. "I think we should talk to him. We need all the help we can get, and he's got to know a lot more about Sluis Van than we do."

"I'd... prefer it if you didn't reveal my real name to him," Revan said. "Not unless he needs to know."

"Yeah, I figured that," Carth said. "But... Dar's smart, and he can leap to the damndest conclusions and still be right. Used to drive me crazy."

"Use your best judgment, then," Revan said, but she looked a bit worried. "I... I don't want your friend to shun you because of the company you keep," she added in a lower voice.

Carth had thought she was anxious because she didn't want anyone to know who she really was, but instead she was afraid he would lose his friend's good opinion. He was touched by her concern.

"Dar's not that kind of person, but I don't think he needs to know, and it's probably safer for him not to."

"Father, you'd better get going if you plan to catch up with him," Dustil said.

"Yeah... uh, you two better follow behind me," Carth said. "Don't want him to think we're ambushing him or something."

"You only looked dressed to kill, Carth." Revan smirked. She reached into a pocket and pulled out the white noise generator. "Here, take this. I'll take care of the cameras."

"Thanks." Carth took the generator and dropped it into his jacket pocket.

Revan and Dustil fell back, letting Carth move ahead of them. Dustil flashed him an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up for luck.

"Dar! Dar Ges!" Carth called as he strode after the two arguing captains, the white noise shimmer in the air traveling with him.

As Carth closed the distance, he could make out their words, but he couldn't understand them. The liquid, smooth sounds of Corellian mixed with the grunts and snorts of the Aqualish language, neither of which Carth spoke.

Interrupted in their arguing, both sentients halted and turned to look at Carth with varying degrees of annoyance on their faces. The Aqualish grunted something and turned to catch up with his colleagues. The tall, lanky man scowled after him before turning his glare on Carth, letting the other captains move on ahead of him. He frowned in puzzlement and annoyance at Carth, one hand dropping unconsciously to the well-worn blaster pistol at his hip. Then, apparently reminding himself of his manners, his face smoothed out into a bland, neutral expression, neither welcoming nor hostile.

"What do you want, spacer? You make free with my name, but you have the advantage of me," the man said, frowning severely, deepening the lines on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. He didn't look alarmed or frightened of him, just wary, eyes darting alertly to where Revan and Dustil stood a few paces away from Carth.

Checking again for the shimmer that would obscure what he was about to say, Carth said, "It's been some years since I last saw you, Dar, but you don't seem to have changed any. It's me, Carth Onasi."

Snorting loudly, the man clearly thought Carth was either mad, a fool, or deluded, or possibly all three. "If you're Carth Onasi, _guerfel_, then I'm a Hutt's Twi'lek dancing girl," he said, and started to turn away.

If Carth remembered correctly, '_guerfel_' meant 'fool' in Corellian, and he couldn't really blame him for thinking that.

"Eighteen years ago, someone was about to stick a vibro-shiv in your back, but I stopped him," Carth said, hoping Dar remembered. His recollection of that night was a little hazy, since he'd been a bit drunk at the time - in fact, Dar had been drunk, too.

Dar turned back and stared at him, looking astonished. "I don't know how you knew Carth and I were friends. You've done your homework if you're a HoloNet reporter in disguise." His eyes rested on the hilts of Carth's swords and on his blasters. "Although you're the toughest-looking reporter I've ever seen."

Carth was relieved to see that Dar's interest had been piqued, no longer inclined to blow him off for a fool, but that hope was premature.

"Nice try, but you're definitely not him, _guerfel_, since he doesn't look like he used a beam cutter to shave after falling face first into a sarlaac pit," Dar continued. "He's out there eating tiny sandwiches with kings and important people, and checking out the pretty women."

Carth heard identical choked snickers behind him at the man's last words. "I would not!" he retorted, indignant. He shook his head; he didn't have time for digressions. "You don't want to repeat what happened in Mynock's Haven, Dar. I didn't insult your wife." He hoped Dar remembered that incident, and would believe him.

Dar's eyes narrowed. "You know about that? That's ancient history... If you really are Carth, then tell me this: what did you offer me after I was wounded in the Mandalorian Wars?"

"I offered you my grandfather's lodge on Telos," Carth said without hesitation, "for your, uh..." He racked his brains, trying to dig up years-old memories. Foreign languages had never been his strong point; he should've thought of this earlier. "For your, uh, contempt hermit?"

"That's _contemplys hermi_," Dar corrected, looking quite pained. "You _must_ be Carth; he's the only one who could mangle my mother tongue that badly."

"Do you believe me _now_?"

"Sweet Soalie," Dar breathed. His frown disappeared into a huge grin. "Sweet Soalie, it really _is_ you, Carth!" He grabbed Carth by his arms and stared into his face. "Sweet Soalie!" he said again, laughing as he pulled Carth into a back-pounding hug.

Carth could feel his own face splitting into a wide grin, relieved that Dar finally believed him and still remembered him, and still considered him a friend. Administering his own back-pounding hug, Carth laughed.

"Dar, you're looking good," Carth said when Dar held him out and stared at him as though he still couldn't believe his eyes.

"_Cjaal ysce'l_, Carth. You're wearing the road well yourself." Dar's grin seemed to be permanently fixed to his face. "But what in the Nine Corellian Hells are you doing _here_?" He blinked at Dustil and Revan behind Carth, as though he'd forgotten they were there. "And who're your friends?"

"It's a long story, Dar," Carth began, but stopped and held up his hand. "Uh, we shouldn't talk about it here, though."

"It may be best if we continued this downside, yeah," Dar agreed, cocking one bushy eyebrow at the shimmer in the air. "I get the feeling this conversation would take place best in my office, not in the middle of the corridor. Introductions should perhaps wait until we've got some privacy," he added, glancing at Revan and Dustil, staring particularly hard at Dustil.

"Uh, Dar, it might be better if we didn't go together," Carth said, mindful of all the strange things that'd been happening to them, not to mention the attempted assassinations and capture attempts. "Although we do need to talk, and not just about old times."

Dar's eyebrows rose in curious inquiry. "Oh? Really?" He didn't look too alarmed or concerned about it. _Same old Dar._

"I'm told there's at least one spy around here," Carth said.

"All right," Dar said, pursing his lips in thought. "Gimme your pad." He tapped something on Carth's datapad when he handed it to him. "That's the address to my house, and the access codes. I'll meet you there in an hour, how's that?"

Carth nodded, putting the pad back into his pocket. "Sounds like a plan. See you then, Dar."

"I look forward to it, Carth. And you'd better show up, or I'll die of curiosity!" Dar said.

Grinning, Carth waved. "Catch you later."

Dar started to turn away, but stopped. "Oh, before I go, I gotta ask you something."

"What?"

"What happened to your neck?" Dar asked with a sweet smile.

"Uh..." Carth flushed and turned up the collar of his jacket around his neck self-consciously. "I'll... I'll tell you later, Dar," he muttered, hearing Dustil and Revan snickering behind him. _Damn Revan and her jokes._

Dar smirked and turned with a jaunty wave.

"So that's an old friend of yours, Carth?" Revan said, looking after Dar. She smiled. "I think I like him. He's cute."

"I think he'll like you, too," Carth said as he pondered that 'he's cute' remark. He looked at his pad. "Come on, we'd better go get our shuttle."

"Are we going to just leave the _Hawk_ here?" Dustil said.

"No, BR-01 can fly it to, uh..." Carth loaded the map on his pad with Dar's address. "The capital city spaceport. We'll take the shuttle - we'll be less conspicuous that way."

As they continued walking down the corridor, Revan asked. "So who is Dar Ges? How did you meet him?" Dustil stopped looking out at the ships through the gallery windows and turned his attention back.

Carth realized he'd never told Dustil - and that the story would hardly showcase his father's best behavior; it looked like he would have to make some judicious edits.

"Uh, well... I met Dar when I was just a snot-nosed ensign fresh out of the academy, on my first cruise. We were stationed in Coronet on Corellia for a few weeks, and I had shore leave, so, I, um, decided to go see the, uh, the sights. Dar happened to be stationed on the same ship I was on, but we'd never really met, since Dar was a flight lieutenant with the fighter forces at the time, and I was just an ensign."

"You said you stopped someone from sticking a vibro-shiv in his back," Dustil said. Surmise and a wicked grin blossomed on his face. "You weren't in a _fight_, were you?"

Damn Dustil for being so perceptive at the most inconvenient times. Carth glowered at his son. And damn that Force sense both Dustil and Revan had for telling truth from lies.

"Well... yeah," Carth admitted.

"Did the, um, sights you talked about include, oh, the cantinas and tapcafes in Coronet?" Revan said, all artful innocence.

"Uh, um, yeah." Carth sighed. "Look, I admit it, I was young and, and stupid, and I'd just gotten leave on the first planet besides Caridas and Telos after four years in the academy."

"You were in a bar fight, weren't you," Revan said, a grin spreading across her face.

Dustil looked surprised. Carth restrained a smirk. _Heh, didn't think your old man could be that wild, huh? Wait, I don't want him to think that!_

"Hey, it's not like I started it," Carth said in his defense. "I was actually just walking through Treasure Ship Row with a friend of mine, Grenn, who'd been there before. He had to leave early, so I was wandering around the bazaar by myself, and I crossed over into the Blue Sector."

"The Blue Sector?" Dustil asked.

"The, uh, wild and disreputable part of Coronet," Carth explained. He decided not to mention he'd been a bit drunk by the time he'd gone into the Blue Sector; Grenn had made sure he would know where all the good bars were. Carth also decided not to mention he'd had a date with a girl that night - who was _not_ Morgana.

"So, uh, anyway, there I was, a stupid kid walking around in the Blue Sector - which was just asking for trouble - when I passed by a bar called, the, um, Mynock's something, Haven or Tavern - I can't remember which - and I heard someone shouting. I saw Dar in his flight suit, and he looked like he was ready to kill somebody."

"Why?" Dustil said.

"Uh, well, someone had just insulted his girlfriend - he ended up marrying her, by the way," Carth replied. And the insults had been pretty vulgar and ugly, he remembered that much. "Since he was alone, I, um, decided to help a brother officer out, especially when some of them pulled out blades."

"How noble of you," Revan said, her tone dust-dry.

Carth rubbed the back of his neck. "I could've gotten myself killed." He shook a cautioning finger at Dustil. "And don't you be as stupid as I was!" _Still am?_

"That's pretty rich, Father. Isn't that a case of 'do as you say, not as you do'?" Dustil smirked. "And weren't you in a bar fight _again_ just a few days ago?"

"Yeah, but, but that was different!" Carth sputtered. "I wasn't" - he bit back _drunk_ - "I was trying to get out of the way." Granted, he hadn't tried very hard. "Besides, I had to keep this girl from getting hurt."

Both Revan and Dustil looked skeptical.

Carth was spared from defending himself further when they reached the docking bay to the shuttle, and they all squeezed inside to get to the cockpit. Revan settled herself behind the copilot's seat again, and Dustil sat next to him.

"Father?"

"Yeah?" Carth prompted as he started up the engines.

"What's that earring he's wearing? You said all Corellian men wear them?" Dustil said.

"It looks neat. Maybe you should get one, too, Carth. You'd look cute," Revan interjected.

"I'm not Corellian," Carth said, giving her a dry look over his shoulder.

"Aw, but it could be part of your disguise!" Revan wheedled.

"I don't think so. Besides, another Corellian could tell I'm a fake just looking at it." Carth chuckled at seeing Revan's pout.

"About the earring?" Dustil reminded him.

"Oh, yeah." Carth raised his eyebrows. "I'm surprised you never asked him when he was on Telos."

"I wanted to, but, um, he looked so sad, and, and in so much pain that I never really got up the nerve to ask."

"Your friend was on Telos?" Revan said.

"Yeah." Carth grimaced at the memory. "Dar was hurt pretty badly in the beginning of the Mandalorian Wars, eight years ago. The task force he was with was ambushed, and half his squadron was destroyed - including his wife. I was with the reinforcements, but we arrived too late to catch the Mandalorians; all we could do was help the survivors. I was... I was Saul's executive officer at the time, and I was in charge of general mop-up and picking up any survivors we found.

"When we picked him up, he was barely alive - if we'd gotten to him even a few minutes late, he would've died." And Dar had wanted to, Carth remembered, after his wife had died in the battle. He hadn't understood his friend's death wish until after Telos had been destroyed. After that, he'd understood all too well.

"Anyway, he got a medical discharge from the Fleet, and he told me he was at loose ends; he didn't want to go back to Corellia, said there were too many memories there, and he didn't want his family's pity, so I offered to put him up in my grandfather's lodge on Telos."

"That was very kind of you, Carth."

Carth gave Revan a wry smile. "Hey, I'd do the same for any friend. But we were talking about his earring, right?" Dustil gave him an impatient nod. "That's his _min min_ earring, and all Corellian men get one when they turn eight. I think _min min_ means 'me' or 'I' in Corellian. It's a pretty big deal when they get one, and their families throw huge parties to celebrate."

Carth piloted the shuttle down to a busy stream of vehicles flying in the capital city habitat. The navcomp threw up directions on a screen, and he headed for a cluster of residential towers, nearly on the other side of the habitat from the Houses and government offices. Dar had to be doing well if he could afford to live in the capital.

"So can you read your friend's earring, Carth?" Revan asked.

"Not really... only another Corellian can really understand what it says, but I think... I think he's remarried," Carth said. "There were two notches in the bar connecting the top two pieces." Carth hesitated. "At least, I _think_ that's what it means. Or does it mean he's got two sisters? But, no, that doesn't make any sense - he doesn't have any sisters."

"Maybe he has two wives?" Revan joked.

Carth laughed. "No, Dar's wild, but he's not _that_ wild. Corellians don't go in for polygamy."

"Aw, too bad," Revan sighed.

Giving her a dry look over his shoulder, Carth said, "Telosians aren't into polygamy, either." He landed the shuttle on the rooftop garage of the building Dar lived in.

"A shame, that."

"Don't tell me Deralians are, uh, like that?" Carth said. To his complete surprise, she nodded.

"That's a common Deralian practice, yes," Revan confirmed.

Both Onasi men turned to stare at her with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"You're joking," Carth said when he'd found his voice. His face started to heat in embarrassment, but his mind insisted on showing him all the possibilities. He shook his head. _Revan was right; you _are_ a Gamorrean pig-man!_ Dustil was already bright red.

"Nope," Revan said, looking amused at their reactions. "Oh, don't get me wrong, monogamous relationships are common, too."

Carth just shook his head and unstrapped his safety harness. The woman was shameless. "Come on, let's go."

They emerged from the shuttle, stepping down onto the rooftop, where cultured rows of trees planted in tubs lined the sides of the roof and between parked vehicles. The sharp scent of the shrubbery filled Carth's nose as they walked towards the lift. A protocol droid took Carth's access code and let them through.

Dustil stared around at the elegant, understated furnishings when they arrived on Dar's floor, and the plush carpet muffled their footsteps as they walked down the corridor. "I didn't know he's rich."

"He wasn't, but it looks like he's been making good credits. House Vosaryk takes care of its employees." _When they're not getting them killed._ Carth stared around with equal curiosity.

Dar answered the door when they finally arrived, dressed now in civilian clothes. A huge grin lit his face. "_Ol'val_! I've been expecting you! Come in, come in."

Carth stepped into the spacious apartment, and looked around. The faint, redolent smell of Corellian _vweliu_ nuts mingled with the strong aroma of brewing caffa, laced with the smells of old leather and wood. A large holoprint of the Gold Beaches of Corellia filled one wall, the other taken up with a large transparisteel window that stretched the length of the room, giving them a breathtaking view of the capital city skyline. There were abstract sculptures made of light and _vweliu_ wood in discreet niches, the rest of the room filled with overstuffed couches and chairs. A large glass cabinet held some strange trophies and an abundance of Mandalorian weapons.

"What the -"

Carth nearly tripped over a sinuous, black-furred creature twining itself about his ankles, purring as loudly as the _Ebon Hawk's_ engines at full blast. Bright, inquisitive golden eyes blinked up at him. It was a Corellian spukamos, a kind of cat. He reached down and picked it up, where it purred even more loudly and ecstatically when he ran his fingers through its thick, luxurious fur.

"Hey, isn't this...?"

Dar laughed. "That's Turhaya. Brought her all the way with me from Coronet." His lips quirked into a sly grin. "I see you're still a hit with the ladies, Carth."

"Cute." Giving Dar a dry look and a wry smile, Carth put Turhaya down, giving her one last rub under her chin before straightening up. Tail held high, Turhaya ambled over to investigate Revan and Dustil.

"Welcome to my humble home," Dar said, waving a hand. "Are you going to introduce me now?" he added, glancing at Dustil and Revan with avid curiosity.

"I don't think I need to introduce you to my son, Dar," Carth said, clapping a hand on Dustil's shoulder.

"Sweet Soalie! Dustil!" Dar took Dustil's hand, shaking it. "You've grown so tall I didn't even recognize you! You barely reached my shoulder the last time I saw you, not to mention you weren't blonde and blue-eyed back then, either."

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Ges," Dustil said, a little shy.

"Call me Dar - calling me 'Mr. Ges' makes me feel old." Dar scrutinized Dustil. "You take after your old man."

Dustil smiled uncertainly, as if he didn't know how to respond to that.

"Dar," Carth said before the moment grew awkward, "this is..." _my friend_ was too ambiguous, _my girlfriend_, no, dammit, _my lover_ was out of the question, and so was Revan's favorite term, _main squeeze_. He decided on, "My partner, Nami Kera'al."

"I'm _very_pleased to meet you, ma'am," Dar said, taking Revan's hand and bowing over it with a flourish, and kissed the back of it with enthusiastic panache. Carth rolled his eyes.

"Please, call me Nami," Revan said, an amused light dancing in her eyes at the courtesy and at Carth's reaction.

"And you can call me Dar," Dar said as he straightened up. "But I'm being rude and uncouth. Come on over and sit." He showed them a closet where they could put their weapons and jackets away before leading them to the couches.

"How's your brother? And the rest of your family?" Carth asked, once they had sat down.

"Zan's still in Intel... A captain now. You know how those spooks are; he wouldn't give you directions to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant without access codes and a request filed in triplicate. I'm surprised I didn't need high-level security codes just to get into his wedding!"

Carth laughed with Dar, knowing how close-mouthed Dar's younger brother was, whose paranoia surpassed his own and was nearly raised to an art form.

"The rest of my relatives are out there, somewhere, most of them on Corellia, and one of my nieces just married into the Draysons of Tralus, if you can believe it." Dar pointed at the Corellian glyphs on his earring. Carth thought he saw new ones, but he was damned if he knew how to interpret the tiny symbols.

"That's great, Dar! Uh, even if I don't know which family you mean," Carth said. "I mean, if I remember correctly, there're thousands of Draysons in Coronet and on Tralus alone!"

"It's the Draysons who..." Dar took in Carth's blank expression. "Oh, nevermind. I don't expect a rimkin from the sticks to understand Corellian family ties."

Carth gave him a dry look for that; had anyone else but his best friend called him a 'rimkin', they'd be on the floor, looking for their teeth.

Dar waved that away. "Suffice to say it was a good marriage. She's happy, and that's all that really matters. Although just between you and me, the Draysons are a superstitious, hidebound bunch, and complete sticks in the mud," he added in a lower voice.

"Anyway, enough of that... I thought this occasion was special enough to call for my droid to make ryshcate," Dar said.

"Ryshcate?" Dustil asked.

"It's a Corellian dessert, made with _vweliu_ nuts and Corellian whiskey, and only served on special occasions, like birthdays and the like," Dar said. "What would you all like to drink?"

Carth sat down on a couch next to Revan while Dustil sat in an overstuffed chair. Dar's droid rolled in, bearing a platter of refreshments and drinks. Carth chose a can of Corellian beer, and sipped the effervescent brew; the taste of the slightly bitter beer brought back memories of Corellia, especially the time he'd met Dar.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it, Carth?" Dar said, toasting him with his own beer. He turned to Revan and Dustil. "Did Carth tell you how we met?"

They nodded. "A fight in a cantina, right?" Dustil said.

"Did he tell you he got thrown through the window?" Dar beamed as proudly as if _he'd_ been the one who'd gotten tossed through the window, and not Carth. "And then he got right back up and dived back into the fray!"

Dustil's eyes grew round as he stared at Carth, and Revan grinned.

Carth glared at Dar and rubbed his neck, embarrassed by Dar's obvious pride and worried that his son would take his father's example too close to heart.

"You're exaggerating, Dar," Carth muttered. "Besides, you were drunk."

Dar looked outraged. "I was not!"

"Yeah you were." Carth smirked, certain of his ground now. "You were singing - no, _trying_ to sing - that play you like so much, what was it, Hell something King?"

"That's _Uhl Eharl Khoehng_, _chumiya_," Dar said, wincing. "And I thought I told you to stop mangling my mother tongue. Besides, you were drunk, too."

"Uh..." Damn, he'd hoped Dar had forgotten that little detail. He rallied gamely. "You were drunker than I was!"

"Don't be ridiculous - _you_ were!"

"No way!"

Dustil and Revan looked back and forth between Carth and Dar as they exchanged heated denials and accusations like a hoverball.

"Look, man," Dar said, shaking a finger, "I'm five years older than you, and I've got a more experienced liver. Therefore, logic dictates that _you_, a kid straight out of the academy, were drunker!"

"A pile of rancor dung has more logic than that!" Carth retorted. "At least _I_ could still walk a straight line!"

"Ha!" Dar barked. "Maybe if your idea of a straight line is a wobbly circle!"

Carth glowered at his friend and folded his arms. "Okay, we were _both_ drunk, then!" he admitted, afraid to look at the other two. He could feel the wattage of their amused grins like the heat from Tatooine's twin suns.

Dar grinned. "Okay, I can agree with that."

As much as he was enjoying their banter, Carth knew they needed to talk about more serious things. "As much fun as this is, Dar, we need to talk about why we're here."

Dar sat up in his chair. "Yeah, okay. So what in the Nine Corellian Hells _are_ you doing here?"

"Er, spying. Sort of. Are you one of OFI's observers here?" Carth asked. It would make sense for the Fleet intel types to approach Dar with a job like that, since his brother was in intelligence.

Dar nodded. "Yeah, I am. Sort of. I send stuff I think is unusual or out of the ordinary on to Zan." He frowned, stretching out his long legs. "I'm afraid I don't see as much as they'd like, since I'm not here downside all the time, but there's a kind of feel to the air... A kind... of tension, you know, like the moment just before you launch into a show," he said, using fighter pilot slang for a space battle.

And Dar's instincts were superb after flying a starfighter for over twenty years. Carth chewed his lip. "We're getting that feeling, too, Dar."

"Did OFI send you?" Dar asked, his thick eyebrows climbing up his forehead. "I never figured you for a spook, Carth." He glanced at Revan and added, "Although... _you_ I can see as an OFI or RI agent, for some reason. An _eharl_, a trickster, through and through."

Revan just smiled and stayed silent while Dustil rolled his eyes. Carth managed to keep himself from shifting uncomfortably; Dar's guess was too close to the truth.

"Anyway, no, OFI didn't send us, exactly," Carth said, shaking his head. "The only reason we came here in the first place was to meet with some of OFI's informants and get our ship's weapons systems upgraded. We got mixed up into this about three days after we landed."

Rubbing the side of his prominent nose, Dar stared at Carth speculatively. "Hm. I wasn't here at the time, but I do receive Sluis Van news, you know. You wouldn't happen to have been involved with a kidnapping attempt on Lady Versenne, would you? The news was a bit garbled, with no holo footage at all. But there was mention of a scarred man at the scene..." Dar's voice trailed off as he stared at Carth's prominent facial scars.

Shrugging, Carth nodded, not seeing any point in concealing their role in thwarting Lady Versenne's kidnapping from his friend. "That was me, but I wasn't the only one involved," he said, nodding towards Revan and Dustil.

"It was a good thing you did," Dar said, turning serious. "Lady Versenne's the only heir, and if we'd lost her... Well, let's just say it would've been a right mess. All of the Vosaryk retainers and employees love her, from all that I've seen."

"How bad could it've been?" Carth asked. It was no longer an academic question. "Are we talking inter-House civil war?"

"Well, you gotta know that whatever the boss's attitude is, it usually rubs off on his underlings?" Dar said. Carth nodded. "Old man Vosaryk's always had it in for one of the Houses - dunno if you know House Khyrohn - and if the kidnapping had succeeded, well, the rank and file would've been behind the old man all the way if it came to a war between their Houses. Messy as hell. Gives me the screaming koobles just thinking about it."

That was as good an opening as any for Carth to explain why he'd approached Dar.

"Uh... now that you've brought it up, I'll come straight to the point and tell you that's what we wanted to talk to you about," Carth said. "It goes farther and deeper than just one man's vendetta against a rival House."

The cheerful smile on Dar's face faded by gradual degrees into a grim line when they told him what had been happening on Sluis Van, and their various theories.

"Well. I can see I've missed a lot this season," Dar said, rubbing at the scar on his face.

"Season?" Carth said, perplexed. "What season?" The habitats had no seasons, and neither did the planet, as far as he knew.

"Oh, I don't mean seasons as in spring or summer; I mean seasons like quarters of a year. That's what they call a quarter here, a season," Dar explained. "It was my turn to go out on the cargo run in Vosaryk's merchant fleet, so I haven't been here for a few months."

"I never thought I'd see the day you'd become a freighter bum, Dar," Carth said, shaking his head with mock sadness.

"That's _Captain_ Freighter Bum to you, thank you very much," Dar corrected, his nose in the air. "Of the good ship _Serendipity_."

"Bit of a mouthful."

Dar looked sheepish. "Yeah, I know. The rest of the crew calls her _Dippy_ for short when they think I can't hear."

Dustil grinned and Carth snorted laughter. "Dippy? _Dippy?_" Dar huffed and glared at him.

Revan stepped in before Dar could retort, and possibly hit him. "What runs does House Vosaryk take?"

Dar gave Carth one last glare before answering. "All the usual trade routes, like the Corellian Trade Spine, the new Hydian Way, the Eriadu Way..."

Carth frowned. "Aren't you pretty tempting targets out there? Especially on the Rim?" Pirates, slavers, deserters and worse populated the fringes of the Outer Rim and some of the more remote hyperspace routes, just waiting to amush any tasty prey that happened by.

Dar brightened. "Oh, we're not as defenseless as all that. Uh, what I'm about to show and tell you stays inside these four walls, okay?" He led them over to the holoprojector and pressed a button.

As Dar fiddled with the holoprojector, he cursed under his breath when he fumbled it. "The wife got a fancy new one, and I haven't figured out all the controls yet." The holo finally lit up.

Instead of the ship Carth had been expecting, there was a woman holding two children instead; the laughing, smiling raven-haired woman had bright green eyes and a cute upturned nose. She laughed at the camera, then looked down at the children holding her hands.

"Dar, are those...?" Carth pointed at the children.

"Yep. Adorable, aren't they? The kids could give a rancor cavities." Dar looked at the holo with paternal pride. "That's my wife, Cheyasa. Teeysa is five, and Ianas is four; he's got another four years before he gets a _min min_ earring of his own. Anyway, not what I wanted to show you."

Dar punched another button, and the holo changed.

"Uh, still not right, Dar," Carth said, looking at an old, grainy holo. "You _still_ have this?"

"You know I never throw anything away," Dar said, looking at the eighteen-year-old holo of himself and Carth. Dar was in a pilot's jumpsuit, and Carth was in an ensign's uniform, their arms around each other's shoulders and laughing.

"The wife thinks it's a fake," Dar said, rolling his eyes at the follies of women.

"I can see that. I mean, who'd want to hang around with _you_?" Carth said, grinning. "That Carth Onasi's got good taste, after all."

"Cute," Dar drawled. "But I think you left it in your other trousers."

Revan and Dustil both looked fascinated with the holo. Looking at it, Carth could see the close resemblance his younger self had to Dustil.

Dar finally managed to get the right holo loaded. A ship bloomed in the air, and Carth recognized it as one of the huge cargo ships he'd seen on their trips to and from the shipyard. It was larger than the largest of the capital ships the Fleet had, but proportionally slower and ungainly. It extruded turbolasers and ion canons at equal intervals all along its axis from cunningly hidden ports. Two complete wings of fighters swarmed out of docking bays. _Not_ as defenseless as the ship first appeared; while it was not as well armed as even the smallest warship, it was more than capable of handling a few or even a group of pirates.

"Wow," Carth said, impressed.

"Yeah, pretty neat, huh? The fighters were my idea. They screamed bloody murder at first about wasting precious cargo space and credits on them, but these new ones fold their wings like the ones on shuttles, so they take up less space."

Carth blinked. "Fold their wings?"

"Yep." Dar started to say more, but then made an impatient cutting gesture with his hand. "Bah, I'll just show you. Come on up to the garage with me after we finish our chat - I've got a stock fighter in the garage."

"What're you doing with a fighter?" Carth asked, staring at Dar. He firmly repressed the idea that he was even a little bit jealous, dammit. "And how the hell did you get one?"

"I'll show you," Dar said. "As to the why and how, well..." - he coughed - "being a captain in a big shipbuilding company and having a naval reserve commission does have its benefits."

"B-but a _fighter_? Armed? Who'd you bribe?" Carth demanded.

"I am shocked, shocked and disgusted by what you're implying. Me, _bribe_?" Dar placed a hand over his heart, feigning deep hurt.

"Yeah, who'd you bribe?" Carth repeated, giving his friend a very dry look.

"Nobody, dammit!" Dar laughed.

"Anyway, show us later, Dar... lemme show you these, and tell me if you recognize any of them. I got them from House Boro." Carth put in the data chip with the schematics he'd stolen into Dar's holoprojector.

"Hey, this looks... familiar." Dar tugged on his earring as he stared at the pictures Carth had taken of the merc training areas.

"Really? What of?" Carth prompted.

"Dammit, I don't know." Dar puffed his cheeks out in frustration. "I've seen something like them somewhere here, though, in one of the habitats."

"Okay, let's leave it for now. What about these? Do you recognize any of them?"

After a few minutes of going through the holos, they determined that Dar only recognized the diagrams and the training areas.

"Is there any way they can take down the sensors easily?" Revan said, pointing at the holo.

"Well, yeah, but first they'd have to get _to_ them, you understand. These things are all eyes, and they could pick up a firaxan burping twenty parsecs away!"

"Would they have any reason to suspect, oh, a Sluis Van ship getting close to them, though?" Carth mused, and told Dar about the pilot he'd met and what hints she'd dropped, though he left out how he'd wheedled the information from her.

"Assault shuttles and mercs trained in taking out station defenses... Sounds pretty suspicious to me, too, yeah." Dar scratched the scar on his cheek. "Sluis Van hasn't really been threatened since Darth Revan sent that task force, so maintaining their battle readiness isn't exactly a priority."

Carth kept himself from glancing at his lover; Revan was canny enough not to show anything.

"That means the SVN has gotten... I wouldn't call it _slack_," Dar continued, not noticing Carth's discomfort, "but, yanno, kinda complacent."

"Think they're invulnerable?" Carth suggested.

"Nah. It's not like they've stopped their patrols or shut down any of the forts, but guards of any sort start getting bored. Oh, they try to keep their edge with drills, patrols, maneuvers and crew rotations, but to them, the war's over," Dar said.

"I see what you mean." Carth frowned. "I don't think we can do anything about it, though, unless you can pull some strings and put a word into a senior officer's ear?"

"I don't think I could do much good, even if I had strings to pull, Carth. The Sluissi take ships so seriously, it's almost an obsession," Dar said, running a hand through his hair as he attempted to explain. "They're also real proud of them, and rightfully so, given their navy and the business they do, but it makes them a bit arrogant, too."

"So you're saying that they won't take a threat seriously, even if we warn them?" Carth concluded.

"Pretty much," Dar agreed. "At least, they won't take _me_ seriously, and not you, even if you _weren't_ in disguise. They leave the Houses to themselves, for the most part, and they don't interfere unless it's pretty major; a sort of 'I'll leave you alone if you leave me alone' attitude, and that means they won't take advice seriously from any of the Houses, either."

"What about the Republic embassy? Have you met the ambassador here?" Carth asked. "Can he be trusted?"

"Yeah, sort of. I mean, we're not drinking buddies or anything, but I've met him at some receptions. Seemed like a nice sort, but that's not really a lot for us to go on, is it?" Dar waved his beer in a shrug.

"Damn. I was hoping that we could call on someone for backup here, if we happen to land in something way over our heads," Carth sighed. _If we haven't done that already._

Dar tugged on the chain of his _min min_ earring. "I don't think he'd be much help, anyway. It's not like he can call on any Republic troops here, since he doesn't have any."

"What, not even any security guards?"

"A few, but not what I'd call marines. This is Sluis Van, not Onderon or some wild frontier world, after all."

"Damn." Carth had been hoping he could call on the ambassador for some sort of support, but it looked like all the ambassador could provide was moral support, not material. "What about the Fleet? OFI?"

"What about them? Sluis Van is a Republic ally, but its defenses are more than adequate enough that they don't need a Fleet garrison here. As for OFI... I don't know if they've got agents here or not, since Zan didn't see fit to enlighten me as to any, but if there are, they're probably on the ambassador's staff."

"Do you know any?" Carth asked.

Dar shook his head, looking disappointed that he couldn't help more. "Nope. I just pass gossip on to my brother - it's not like I'm a real informant or anything, sorry."

Carth waved that aside and decided to get back to a subject that Dar could actually help them with. "So a known Sluis Van ship could sneak up on a sensor platform... Are they hard to disable, do you think?" Carth asked.

"I don't really know; I never served on any of the platforms. But I can tell you that most of a sensor platform is taken up with scanners and detectors, with not much room left over for weapons or shields. It should be really hard to sneak up on one, but if someone managed to get past the defenses, they wouldn't have much trouble shutting it down or taking it over."

Carth scratched his chin while his mind raced, thinking over the possibilities. "And the sensors are the ones that keep watch on possible enemy approaches, right? They wouldn't be looking _behind_ them, so to speak."

"No, they wouldn't..." Dar pulled on his earring harder. "You think these mercs you told me about are going to assault the sensor platforms?"

"Just one theory of many, but yes," Revan said.

"Makes sense, doesn't it?" Carth said. "If someone's planning a hostile takeover, they'd make sure no one could see and call for help."

"It does... if you ignore the fact that the SVN is here," Dar pointed out.

"Maybe... maybe the SVN won't - or can't - help," Revan suggested.

Dar looked taken aback. "Why wouldn't they?"

"Every military organization's got factions, Dar... maybe there are dissidents in the SVN who aren't happy, or have sold out," Carth said. That had worked well enough with the Republic Fleet, and it was hard to stop himself from shooting Revan an accusing look; Revan had enough guilt to deal with without him adding to it.

"I... suppose that's possible, although I think the SVN is really too tight-knit for that to happen," Dar said, sounding very dubious. "If the SVN is fighting itself from within, they might succeed in their assault on the sensors."

They all contemplated this state of affairs in a glum silence. Dar sighed. "Well, come on up to the garage with me, and I'll show you that fighter I told you about."

They followed Dar back out to the elevator and headed up a few floors. The doors opened, revealing a garage and docking bay, similar to Davik Kang's setup on Taris, but smaller in size. Since this was _Dar's_ workshop, it also had a small but well-stocked bar in one corner. The garage was clearly Dar's refuge; there were old chairs with the stuffing leaking out, and worn rugs and oil-stained mats were stacked in one corner, away from a wife's critical eye. Carth took a nostalgic sniff; the place smelled of engine grease, oil, ozone and fuel, smells that reminded him of his childhood in his grandfather's shop.

Carth pursed his lips and whistled, transfixed by the sight sitting in the middle of the garage. "She's a beauty, Dar."

"Isn't she?" Dar said with proprietary pride. "Pretty neat, huh? It's the new _Stormrider_-class fighters Vosaryk's been working on. I told them putting fighters on the cargo ships would pay off, and I told them it would be good advertising." He made a face. "They took me a little too literally, I'm afraid - would you believe they plastered holo ads all over the damned things?"

Carth laughed at the sour look on his friend's face; from what he'd seen of the rampant capitalism on Sluis Van, he could well believe that the fighters' hulls were covered with colorful holo ads. He examined the fighter more closely, running a hand along the smooth surface of one wing.

The bright red fighter's wings were folded perpendicular to the main body, making a compact oblong that could be lifted into a service and maintenance rack of a docking bay on a ship. Four cannons gleamed: one under the nose, the other three mounted on the tips of the three wings.

Dustil expressed the sentiment they were all feeling. "Cool!" he breathed as he stared at the fighter's sleek lines.

"Thanks." Dar beamed at seeing their reactions and turned to Carth. "Did you fly the _Ebon Hawk_ here? I saw all the HoloNet news about it," Dar said.

Carth nodded. "Yeah, but we put in new weapons and gave her a new paint job, so that nobody'll recognize her."

"Tell you what..." Dar grinned, jerking a thumb at the fighter. "I might let you take her up..."

"Really?" Carth said, eager hope welling up.

"_If_ you let me fly yours."

Carth pretended to think about it, rubbing his chin. "Well... I dunno. You might ding my pretty little ship up."

Dar's eyes bulged. "Me? Ding a ship up?" he sputtered.

Grinning, Carth said, "Well, you _were_ a fighter jock, Dar. My ship's not the sort you can just take out on a wild jaunt, yanno."

"What, she needs to be wined and dined first?" Dar shot back.

"Something like that."

Dar snorted. "Would you like to try her out, Dustil?" Dar said when he saw the naked longing on Dustil's face.

"What?" Dustil blurted. "Really?"

Before Carth could utter any paternal cautions that would no doubt sour Dustil's mood, Dar said, "I don't mean fly her for real, but I've got some training sims loaded up in the navcomp." He picked up a helmet from a workbench and offered it Dustil. "You're welcome to play with it if you want."

"Go on and have fun," Carth said with an indulgent smile. "You won't get another chance to sit in a real fighter unless you go into the Fleet."

_Or the Jedi. The Jedi have fighters, don't they?_ Another thing for him to worry about, but the anxiety was blunted by the blinding smile on his son's face.

After he put down his beer, Dustil donned the bulky helmet and climbed up the ladder to the cockpit. Dar's astromech droid beeped at him from its niche behind the cockpit as Dustil clambered awkwardly into the cramped space and closed the hatch.

"I'd like to watch," Revan said with diplomatic tact; she knew Carth wanted to talk to Dar alone.

"I can do you one better," Dar said. "Those sims aren't just for the pilot." He led them to a computer console, where there was a set of ship controls set up, complete with dashboard and control yoke. "You can play against Dustil as the opposition."

Revan smiled. "Thanks. I think I'll enjoy this."

Dar walked back with Carth towards the open end of the bay, the shimmer of the force field throwing blue shadows on the cluster of worn chairs and equipment.

"She's a smart one," Dar commented as he plopped down onto a couch that had scratches and claw marks on the arms. He watched Revan walk around the simulator, examining the controls. Carth frowned, suspecting Dar of watching Revan's backside with a bit too much in the way of appreciation, especially when she bent over to look under the console.

"I saw her first, Dar. She's mine," Carth growled with dry amusement, poking Dar in the ribs with an elbow.

Giving Carth a sly grin, Dar said, "I was gonna ask you if you two were involved, Carth, but you just answered my question for me." He laughed at the fulminating look on Carth's face.

Sputtering, Carth glared at Dar. "_What?_ You - you did that on purpose!" He punched Dar, bruising his hand on Dar's prosthetic arm; Dar only laughed harder. "Since when did you get as subtle as your brother?" he muttered as he massaged his knuckles.

"Too easy, man," Dar said, once he had regained his composure. "You haven't changed a bit, Carth."

Taking a sip of his beer, Carth glowered at Dar over the rim of his can. "I was just about to say the same thing," he grumbled, disgruntled at how easily Dar had scored on him.

"I mean, if you're not, you're a _guerfel_, Carth. If I weren't married, and ten years younger, I'd be giving you a run for your credits!"

"In your dreams, Dar." Carth smirked.

Dar's unrepentant grin faded as he turned serious. "But I imagine the boy's not too happy about it?"

Carth winced, remembering Dustil's various reactions. "Well, no. And I really can't blame him. He didn't take it well, and I wonder if he ever will."

Bad enough that his father was involved with a woman who wasn't his mother, which would've made it hard enough for Dustil to swallow; but when that woman had been the Dark Lord of the Sith, it had to be an even more bitter pill for his son to take. Carth didn't know how he could possibly explain, or how he could even get Dustil to accept it. If his son _could_ accept it.

"Give him some time; I'm sure he'll come around. He's just a bit stubborn... kinda like someone else I know..."

Chuckling, Carth punched Dar on the arm. "Heh, thanks. I think." Dar didn't know that Carth's lover was Revan, and couldn't possibly understand the difficulties, but Carth was grateful for hearing the encouragement anyway.

Dar raised his beer in a mock toast. "So tell me, Carth, what the hell you're doing here, looking like you used a turbolaser to give yourself a tan after you fell into a sarlaac's maw? Last I heard, there were rampant rumors about you."

Carth groaned, anticipating just what rumors Dar had heard. "I'm not sure I want to know, but what've you heard?"

"Well, I heard you and the Queen of Naboo had a love child" - Dar smiled beatifically when Carth choked on his beer - "and since she's at least eighty years old, that's a miracle in and of itself." He thumped Carth on the back. "I should congratulate you on being a father again!"

Coughing and spluttering, Carth glared at Dar with watering eyes. "You made that up!" he wheezed as soon as he'd cleared his throat enough to speak.

Grinning at Carth's discomfort, Dar shook his head. "I haven't got the imagination, _chumiya_, it's all over the HoloNet, along with rumors of -"

Holding up a hand to stem the tide of media speculation, Carth moaned, "I don't wanna know, Dar. Spare me, _please_!"

Driving over Carth's protest, Dar continued with blithe disregard, "Rumors of you running off to the Outer Rim to escape the Dowager Queen of Alderaan's marriage proposal - they say she's buried three husbands, and they never did find the fourth -"

Carth flushed, remembering that extremely embarrassing incident, when the Dowager Queen had caught him out in front of a crowd of thousands at her ninetieth birthday celebration on Alderaan. He'd been so mortified he couldn't even speak for a full minute.

"Shut _up_, Dar."

"And the one where you ran off to the Outer Rim with your Mandalorian lover -"

"_What?_" Carth sputtered in outrage and disbelief. "_Mandalorian_ lover?" His voice went up at least an octave. "_What_ Mandalorian lover?"

"Yep. He's waiting for you on some backwoods planet... Dxun, I think."

"_He!_"

"Yep." Dar burst out laughing at Carth, who was so red in the face and outraged that he could not even speak.

"I didn't know you could look so red, Carth. Brings back memories, huh? Face it, you're famous now. Those aren't even the most crazy rumors out there. Why, I heard your lover's the Dark Lord of the Sith, and so's Dustil!"

"_Former_ Sith," Carth snapped, and stopped himself from squirming uncomfortably at how truth had disguised itself as rumor.

Dar choked on a swallow of beer, and it was Carth's turn this time to wallop him on the back. "What? What're you talking about, man? Are you telling me..." He stared in the direction of the fighter, then back at Carth.

Carth debated with himself as to whether or not to reveal what had happened to Dustil. On the one hand, he wanted to protect his son's reputation, but on the other... he wanted to talk to someone about it, someone other than Revan. Guilt and regret still weighed down on his soul, and bitter anger at himself that he hadn't been there to protect Dustil from that fate. Sighing, Carth gave a brief explanation of what had happened to Dustil during the attack on Telos, and how he'd found Dustil after four years on Korriban, in the Sith Academy. By the time he was done, vitriolic bile had flooded his mouth, and he guzzled half his can of beer in an effort to wash it out.

Dar listened to Carth's story, leaning forward with intense interest, not interrupting until Carth finally wound down. "Man, that's tough, Carth. But you found each other after all this time, so surely that's a good thing."

Recounting the tale had brought back all the bad memories and the emotions: the despair, the rage, the horrified shock, the overwhelming urge to slaughter everyone who'd brought Dustil to that pass. Carth curled his free hand into a fist and slammed it down onto the battered table, trying to unleash all of the remembered hurt in his heart into the blow, and welcomed the pain when the impact drove spikes up his arm. Dar jumped, startled, and stared at him.

"B-but, but I should've been there to protect him! I should've been there to protect them, Dar, I shouldn't have been protecting someone else's homeworld - I should've been there protecting my _own_ homeworld!" Carth choked out, clenching and unclenching his stinging hand.

"And just what do you imagine you could've done? I was on Telos for a few months, and while it's one of the prettiest planets I've ever seen, your militia is, ah..."

"A ragtag bunch of old men and boys?" Carth supplied, a bitter smile twisting his lips. Telos hadn't been important enough to have a big Republic garrison stationed there; the small one had seemed more than adequate enough to protect his homeworld then. How wrong he'd been.

"Look, no offense, Carth, but the Telosian militia's more suited to what it was doing, forestry work, search and rescue and whatnot than fighting space battles and ground force armies. The garrison was small, too, and they didn't have a snowball's chance on Tatooine. If you'd been there, you would've been blasted to space dust, along with Morgana."

Carth's face hardened, unable to deny Dar's words. His hand clenched on the can of beer, crushing it. "I could've taken some of the bastards with me."

"Come on, Carth, don't delude yourself into thinking all those war hero medals you've got make you invulnerable. The biggest ship they had was, what, a light cruiser? A corvette? And that would've done, what, exactly, against Interdictor ships and heavy cruisers?"

Dar faced Carth's glare down without flinching. "I don't doubt you could've taken some of them with you, Carth, but lemme ask you this... would you have taken Dustil with you?"

Carth stared at Dar as if he'd gone insane. "No! No, of course not! A twelve-year-old boy's got no place on a warship!"

"Well, then, you'd still have the same situation, wouldn't you? Okay, assume you were there, and you'd commandeered the corvette. While you were off fighting in the skies, the Sith would've still deployed ground troops to round up conscripts. Even if you managed to destroy a capital ship or two, _that still would've happened_, Carth. And then, let's not lie to each other, you would've gone out in a blaze of glory. Right?" He stared into Carth's eyes, daring him to deny it.

Carth looked away first. "If... if I'd been there, I would've made sure Morgana and Dustil got out safely first."

"Mn. You would've done your best to evacuate people, and then you would've fought in the rearguard, to give them every chance to escape. Would you really have taken Dustil and Morgana, and run off to safety?"

"I, I... I - no. No." Carth slumped.

Dar looked sympathetic. "That's right. You knew your duty would've been to save more than one life or two."

Carth stared down at the crumpled can in his hand. "That... th-that doesn't make me feel any better."

"It would've been a hell of a decision to make, that's for sure. Damned if you do, damned if you don't."

"I... I - I could've made sure Morgana and Dustil were okay. She, she didn't... I-it wasn't quick." Carth closed his eyes, fighting off the memories, but he could still smell the stink of death and smoke, the rawness in his lungs and throat from smoke inhalation, the dust in the air, and screaming for Morgana and Dustil in the ruins of Telos.

"Uh-huh. And just how far could an evacuation ship have gotten, do you think, from Saul's fleet? They'd either be dead or _both_ of them captured."

Pain choked Carth's throat, and he couldn't speak around the lump of misery the memories called up.

"You've probably thought of this scenario and more in four years, haven't you?" Dar said, his baritone voice soft.

Carth took a shuddering breath, hands clenching the crushed beer can so hard they shook. He nodded, the admission too painful to voice.

"And then where would that've left Dustil, hm? Who would've cared enough to have gone after him? Who would've snuck their way into the Sith Academy to convince him to leave, and blew it to the Nine Corellian Hells after Dustil was out? He'd be a Sith, a Dark Jedi, is what. Fallen."

The can in Carth's hands was crumpled nearly flat by now. Gently, Dar pried the flattened can out of Carth's hand and pressed a glass into it. Without looking at what it contained, Carth gulped a convulsive swallow, choking a little as he let the sharp, smooth taste of Corellian whiskey burn the bad taste out of his mouth before he trusted himself to speak.

"You know I'm right," Dar said, his slightly raspy baritone quiet and gentle. "And I think you knew that already."

Closing his eyes, Carth took a deep breath, held it for a few beats, then let it out. "Yeah," he said, voice raw.

"But it doesn't make you feel any better, is that it?"

"No. No, not really."

Dar didn't seem to know what to say to that, so he stayed silent. Carth was grateful for that. It was some time before Carth could throw off the black mood, Dar waiting with quiet patience for him to speak. By tacit agreement, they didn't talk any further about Telos, and Carth changed the subject with some guilty relief.

"So how have _you_ been, Dar? The last time I saw you, you were, uh..." Carth's voice trailed off as he tried to find a diplomatic way of saying it.

"A complete mess?" Dar supplied with a rueful smile.

"Uh, well..." Carth conceded with a toss of his hand.

Dar shrugged. "The Fleet's good to soldiers wounded in the line of duty, and the surgeons did a good job on me; I got good treatment before they turned me loose." He tapped on his left arm, leg and stomach, making a hollow sound that real flesh never made. "Took me some time to get used to them."

Carth nodded. "That's good to hear, Dar." Dar had lost his left leg and arm, and his torso had been ripped by shrapnel when the Mandalorians hit his fighter. Only the cold temperatures of space leaking into his shattered ship had saved him from bleeding to death.

"But how the hell did you end up _here_?" Carth asked, taking in the whole of Sluis Van with a hand wave.

"Well..." Dar gave him a strange look. "Would you believe Saul Karath recommended me?"

"What?" Carth's head snapped around and he stared at Dar.

"Yeah. Strange how things turned out, huh?" Dar tugged at his earring's chain as he took a thoughtful sip of his beer. "I'd just completed rehabilitation on Telos, actually, when I got his message."

Carth's mind raced; had his first paranoid impression been right after all? Was Dar really in on this conspiracy? Dismay shook him, and he felt the lack of his weapons keenly. _No, I've still got my boot knife, but, but no, dammit, not Dar!_ He would've chopped off his right arm first before suspecting Dar of anything like that.

Unaware of Carth's turmoil, Dar went on, looking into the middle distance. "Yeah, I only knew him through you, but I thought it was a kind offer at the time, given that we weren't all that close."

Taking a deep breath to control himself, Carth said, "Why do you think he did it?"

"I dunno, actually. I thought _you_ were the one who'd asked him to pull some strings."

"I, no, no, I didn't." Carth wondered what Saul had been thinking. Saul had not been suborned yet, and the bitterness hadn't afflicted his old mentor until after the Mandalorian Wars had ended. _Or maybe you just hadn't seen it then._ The offer might've been given in genuine good faith.

"Huh. The Sluis Van Houses that have ship-related businesses hire a lot of ex-Republic soldiers and pilots." Dar shrugged, holding up his free hand. "I was getting a bit long in the tooth for a fighter jock, anyway, and they didn't mind hiring a crip."

"Dar, you're not a crip."

"Carth, they don't need a one-armed, one-legged man in a military fighter," Dar said. "They can still use'em here, though. And even though Karath turned out to be a traitor, I find myself in the ironic position of being obliged to him."

Using his glass to hide his face, Carth considered his best friend. Was Dar telling the truth? If only he had a Jedi's ability to detect a lie... Dar was making no effort to hide his emotions, and he seemed as open and straightforward as Carth remembered him. All of this second-guessing was giving him a headache.

"Did... did Saul tell you anything?" Carth asked, hoping that sounded delicate enough.

"You mean other than the recommendation and tip for the job? No." Dar tugged harder on his earring, making a face. "Believe me, there wasn't. I told RI and OFI everything I knew about him when he defected to the Sith."

"They investigated?" That made Carth feel a bit better, although the interrogations couldn't have been comfortable for Dar.

"Yeah. Since I have a brother in OFI, they thought Saul might've been trying to cultivate me for an information source." Dar shook his head. "Only a few years early, yanno?"

Carth chuckled. "I'm glad, Dar. What about you? If I'm reading your earring correctly..." He pointed to Dar's ear.

"Oh, you still remember?" Dar said, looking pleased. "Guess you're not such an untutored barbarian after all."

"Cute. Just answer the damned question, will you?"

"Yeah, I remarried." Dar fingered the notches on the earring's bar, and there was a bittersweet smile on his face that Carth understood completely. He dug out a holo from his pocket and offered it to Carth. "I've got more holos in here."

Carth grinned at the pride he saw on Dar's face, a little of his own bittersweetness mingling with the amusement. He used to show off his own holos of Dustil and Morgana to anyone who'd cared to see.

"How'd you meet her?" Carth asked. "She's a beautiful woman, by the way."

Dar's grin turned into a soft, bemused smile. "That she is. I met her by accident, you could say."

"Oh?" Carth knew there were no such things as accidents and coincidences, not after traveling with four Jedi for months.

The smile on Dar's face turned a little grim. "I was on a run out on the Eriadu Way, you see, when we stumbled into a strange group of ships. They didn't answer with the right codes when we hailed them, even though one of them had Vosaryk markings. Turns out they were pirates, and they'd captured a bunch of ships from different shipping companies, and were in the middle of hauling them out to whatever chop shop or free port they infested."

Carth winced. With the wars taking up so much of the Republic's military manpower, the sentients on the fringes of Republic space were vulnerable to all sorts of disreputable rogue elements without regular patrols to keep them cowed. The fringe elements like smugglers, criminals and weapons runners had always been there, but now Mandalorians and Sith deserters had been added into the mix.

"Anyway, they thought they'd stumbled onto another fat prize when my ship met them, and they ordered me to heave to. And I did, just like the captain of any unarmed ship would, and I let them think that... " - Dar's smile had all the humor of a firaxan shark's gape - "right up until I blew the hell out of their boarding ships with the ion cannons at point-blank range."

"Ouch," Carth said, wincing as he imagined it. Not that he had much sympathy for pirates, but that had to have been a nasty surprise.

"Meanwhile, we'd launched the fighters, and mopped their escort up. She was one of their prisoners, probably on the way to be sold somewhere if they weren't held for ransom."

"Was she...?" Carth began, trying to say it as delicately as possible. Pirates weren't known for extending any pleasantries to their prisoners - especially female ones.

Dar's face was grim. "No, thank the Force, although she was terrified. If they had, I would've spaced the lot of them out the airlock instead of taking them prisoner - if I didn't just put a blaster to their heads and pulled the trigger first."

"Er, what _do_ you do with prisoners?" Carth said.

"Turn'em over to the local authorities, who're usually very happy to get some payback. If the local authorities are just more respectable pirates, we turn'em over to the SVN when we get back.

"Anyway, short story is, we captured the pirates, took their ships and cargo as prizes, and hauled the loot home. House Vosaryk gave my crew a nice bonus for the prizes - I got ten percent, as captain - and some extra for getting their freighter back, and the companies who lost their ships gave us a nice reward. A bunch of space scum got their just desserts, and everybody's happy."

"Good for you, Dar," Carth said, grinning. That explained where Dar had gotten his wealth, and not, dammit, from selling information to the enemy, like his paranoia kept insisting.

_Well, I don't know for sure that he isn't selling information to the enemy, too..._

"Chesaya works for House Vosaryk, and we got to talking... And the rest, as they say, is history," Dar finished.

Carth raised an eyebrow; Dar was leaving quite a lot of details out with that short, simple statement. Then again, it was hardly any of his business.

"Congratulations, Dar, even if it's several years late."

Dar laughed. "I invited you to the wedding, but you never returned my messages."

"Oh, you did?" Carth said, trying to remember.

"Er, but I suppose the timing must've had something to do with it." Dar looked embarrassed. "It was just before Telos got..." He coughed, chagrined.

Old pain made Carth twitch his shoulders, and he waved a hand, hoping his friend would take the hint and drop the subject. Since it was Dar he was talking to, Dar didn't.

"Carth, I'm... I was really sorry when I heard about Telos." For the first time in Carth's memory, Dar seemed to have trouble finding words. His hands twitched in little jerks, as though trying to pluck the right words from the air. "I know that sounds incredibly inadequate and lame, _chumiya_..."

"It's okay, Dar. I'm... mostly over it. It's not so much the planet as what - who - I lost there."

To forestall anymore talk about Telos and the painful memories that accompanied it, Carth dug out his own holo. They weren't baby pictures of Dustil, but they were still holos of his son smiling; that Dustil had been smiling when he'd taken the holos meant everything to him. His holos of Morgana were gone; a different woman danced in the light. Carth felt a stab of pain and guilt at the lack of any holo memories of Morgana.

"Oh, you've got one, too? Well, of course, we're both fathers!" Dar grinned and slapped Carth on the back.

Holo Dustil sat in the pilot's seat of the _Hawk_, laughing and making shooing motions. Revan danced with her swords, all grace and fire. Dar made appreciative noises, especially at the holo of Revan.

Despite his resolve not to talk about Telos, Carth had a question he'd been meaning to ask. "Dar, when you were on Telos..." He hesitated, wondering if he should even ask. "Did you... did you happen to take any holos?" He knew Dar was something of an amateur holographer.

"I was really in too much pain to be interested much," Dar said, raising an eyebrow. "Though there were some spectacular sunrises and sunsets at your grandfather's place that were just too beautiful not to capture..."

"I mean, did you..." Carth rubbed the back of his neck. "Did you take any holos of Morgana?"

"Uh? Morgana? No, I'm afraid not." Dar looked bewildered at the question.

"Oh." Disappointment warred with guilty relief in Carth's gut. "Uh, thanks anyway."

Dar's brow wrinkled. "You mean you don't have _any_ of her?"

"Uh... no. Not anymore," Carth said, trying not to feel like a complete failure for having nothing but Morgana's wedding earring. "Most of them were destroyed with Telos, and the only ones I had were destroyed when I was trying to get everyone off the _Endar Spire_."

And he hadn't realized it until after he'd gotten to the escape pods, where'd he actually toyed with the idea of abandoning his duty and fighting through the Sith back towards the crew quarters to get them while the ship died around him, and damn any survivors who got through.

"I'm sorry, Carth." Dar's hand on his shoulder brought him out of the memories.

"Hey, you don't have to apologize." Carth put on a smile and punched Dar's arm, even as guilt churned in his stomach.

Dar wasn't fooled. "What's wrong, Carth?"

Carth turned to look back at Revan, sitting at the far end of the garage in the simulator. As if she'd felt his gaze, she turned and looked up. He made himself smile, and waved to reassure her. She smiled back and turned to the console.

Dar waited patiently for Carth to find the words, sipping at his beer as he gazed out through the forcefield. A companionable silence grew between them, and Carth was grateful to settle into it, back into old habits with his friend. They'd sat like this in countless bars and lounges with their friends. Friends that had been whittled down, little by little, by the wars.

Deciding to test the waters, Carth ventured, "So... you remarried, Dar."

"Yep," Dar said, and waited, not castigating him for stating the obvious. Carth was grateful for that understanding.

"Does it... does it ever get better, Dar?" Carth asked in a small voice, looking without seeing through the shimmering force field.

Dar knew what he was referring to, and heaved a loud sigh, gulping a swallow of beer before answering. "Yeah, it does, believe it or not. My Rinay's been gone these eight years, and sometimes it hurts like a knife in my heart, knowing she's gone." He shot Carth a sharp look, eyes darting to Revan. "I imagine you feel guilty, thinking you're betraying Morgana because you love another woman?"

Carth stared into his glass of whiskey and nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"And you know that's foolish and illogical, but you still feel that way?" Absolute certainty rang in Dar's question.

"Yeah," Carth sighed, and took a long swallow of his drink.

"Ah, Carth, I knew Morgana; she'd hate for you to be unhappy. I know for sure Rinay would kick my backside from one end of heaven to the other if I refused to love someone else because I thought I was betraying her memory.

"And if I remember correctly, Morgana was a certified Expert Marksman with the blaster pistol... I'd find a deep, deep hole to hide in if I were you, when you take that Final Jump." Dar cocked his thumb and extended his forefinger at Carth, imitating shooting a blaster. "Especially if you keep moping."

Carth snorted reluctant laughter at the image and at the echo of Revan's own words. "I, uh, I guess you're right, Dar."

Dar smiled and slapped Carth on the shoulder. "Morgana was a wonderful woman, and she was a good friend to me when I was in my _contemplys hermi_ funk. You're all sorts of lucky to have met and married her, and she'd want you to be happy."

"I, I hope so, Dar. I hope you're right."

"Sweet Sookie, Carth, of course I'm right! Love is a wonderful, rare and precious thing, _chumiya_." Dar shook his head, his voice soft and low. "You mustn't let your regret at how things might've been taint how things are _now_."

"Dar, I'm not -" Carth started to protest, but Dar cut him off.

"It's an honorable and right thing to remember Morgana, and I'm certainly not saying you should forget her. I'm just saying that life's too short to worry overmuch about the past and the things we can't change. All we can do now is live our lives as best we can, with honor, and give them our gift of a life well lived when we see them on the other side of the Final Jump."

Carth raised his eyebrows at Dar, hearing the longest speech he'd ever heard from the normally laconic man. "When did you get so philosophical, Dar? Old age mellowed you?"

"When I got most of my guts blown out, Carth. Nearly dying does that to a man," Dar said, snorting. "I just _know_ Rinay's going to give me what for." He pitched his voice high, in imitation of a woman's irate tone. "Dar Ges, you fool man, why'd you mope over me for over three years?"

Snorting laughter, Carth shook his head. "That sounds like something she'd say, too."

"Heh. And I'll show you just how old I am across a mat, what say?" Dar's eyes glinted. "My supercargo is pretty good at _teras kasi_, but I could use another sparring dummy - er, I mean, partner."

"Now, now, Dar, we're responsible, mature men now, not quarreling little boys with insecurities," Carth intoned, smirking.

"Hmph." Dar snorted, eyeing the clasps on Carth's belt that held his sword. "You might just show me a few tricks, at that."

"I might... if an old kath hound like you can learn new tricks."

"'Old kath hound'!" Dar huffed, eyes widening first with outrage, then narrowing to speculative slits. "Them's fightin' words."

"What fighting words?" Revan said behind them. Dustil was still playing with the fighter sims. 

Carth turned, grateful for her timely intervention. "Dar was just telling me he'd like to spar." 

"Oh? You're a swordsman, Dar?" Revan asked, looking intrigued. "I'd be happy to take you up on your offer." 

Carth frowned at that, and frowned even more at seeing the speculative gleam in Dar's eyes. 

"No, I'm not much good at swordplay," Dar said with a small, regretful sigh. Carth found himself wondering if Dar had meant more than just practice with blades. "But I consider myself a fair hand at _teras kasi_." 

Carth snorted. "A 'fair hand'? You were Fleet champion for four years straight, Dar." 

"Ah, but that was a long time ago." Dar grinned, irrepressible. "I'm out of practice, you know." 

Rolling his eyes, Carth pointed a finger at Dar and said, "You're incorrigible." 

Revan sat next to him, and Dar called to his astromech droid to stop the sims. Dustil clambered out, looking exhilarated, and joined them on the worn couches. 

"Dar, you must know about Bazaar's End?" Revan asked. When Dar nodded, Revan continued. "Do you attend? But I suppose going out with House Vosaryk's merchant fleet would mean you can't."

Shaking his head, Dar said, "We all go out on staggered schedules, and we trade runs every so often, so we don't get bored, but we all come back for the Bazaar and Bazaar's End." Dar sniffed. "Personally, if you've seen one Bazaar, you've seen them all, and I can do without the fancy party. Just a buncha snooty sentients with their olfactory organs in the air."

"Does this mean you've got invitations to Bazaar's End?" Carth pounced on this tidbit. Maybe they wouldn't have to do anything illegal to get in after all.

"Yeah, why? I've only gone once, just to see what all the fuss was about, but that's it. Not my sort of party."

"Well, we need to get in," Carth said, and smirked. "Dustil's going because Lady Versenne invited him."

Dustil turned red, embarrassed and sullen. Carth would normally let his son go off by himself - _Hell, normally? You've only just been around to see your son date, what do you mean, 'normally'?_ Though Carth had his suspicions of just how far things had gone in his son's relationship with Selene.

"Really?" Dar said, raising an intrigued eyebrow at Dustil. Dustil blushed and shifted in his chair, shooting Carth a glare, _Why'd you have to say that?_ "Well, I'm allowed to invite two people in with me..."

"That's great! Now we just have to figure out what to go as."

"A Hutt Counselor from Nar Shaddaa?" Dar suggested. "You look like one, except dumber."

"That's real cute, Dar." Carth shot Dar a glare, then said, "I suppose we'll need the right clothes, too." He looked down at his worn if serviceable jacket. "The fancy stuff that's in fashion right now on Sluis Van."

"Not a problem," Dar said, clapping his hands with a decisive crack. "My tailor can set you all up. My clothes need to be specially made to fit my prostheses," he added at Carth's questioning look. "For myself, I'm required to go in dress uniform, so no fashion headaches for _me_."

Dustil managed to look both annoyed and relieved at the same time, shooting Carth a glowering, sullen look when Carth shrugged a silent apology.

"Why don't we go now?" Dar suggested. "The party's, what, tomorrow? The tailor's still gonna need time to put fabrics together and whatnot."

Carth glanced at Dustil and Revan to get their answers; they both shrugged.

"Where are you all staying, anyway? Gimme your commlink number so that I can tell the tailor where to deliver the clothes," Dar said.

"Uh..." Carth glanced at Revan. "I guess we're not really staying anywhere on Sluis Van. We've had to change hotels a couple of times to throw people off our scent. If we're staying anywhere, then I suppose we're staying on the ship."

"But you can stay here! In fact, I insist!"

"Thanks for the offer, but I don't want to impose. I mean, you've got family here," Carth said, shaking his head at his friend.

"Oh, you wouldn't be staying in my apartment, even though we do have a nice guestroom," Dar said. "My brother has a place here, right across the hall, in fact. He's not going to be staying there for a few months, so it's empty. I'm sure he'd want you to use it."

"Zan would frisk me first and put a neural disruptor collar on me for good measure."

Dar laughed. "I think you're being too hard on him; you're a friend, after all, so maybe just a choke chain." Carth snorted. "Seriously, it's just standing empty right now, so use it! It's very comfortable, and it's got a guestroom, too, so you can all stay there. And since it's _Zan's_ apartment, it's got all the latest in security devices, so you don't have to worry about being overheard or detected."

"I don't know, Dar," Carth said. "I mean, I don't wanna bring the bastards who're after us to your front door. They're not people you want to mess around with."

"Who's gonna know?" Dar countered. "If I remember correctly, they know what your ship looks like and everything, so you'd be a lot more vulnerable on the ship than you would here. You can park whatever your ride is in my garage."

Carth remained uncertain; a glance at Dustil and Revan showed him that they were leaving the decision up to him. "Zan's not gonna like it."

"Zan's not here. Besides, you're working for OFI, and he'd be the first to offer his help to a fellow officer in need." Dar sighed. "Come on, Carth, I owe you a debt, so I might as well start on it right now."

"Dar, you don't owe me anything -" Carth began. "I would've offered to take in anyone if they needed it."

"That's precisely why I owe you."

Carth was taken aback by Dar's vehemence. "Dar -"

"_Sahsallah_, Carth." Dar folded his arms, chin set at a stubborn angle. "You're not gonna insult me by refusing, are you?"

"Dar, I don't want to put you - or your family - in danger!" Carth barked, exasperated.

"Hey, I wouldn't even _have_ a family if it weren't for you."

Carth squinted as he tried to work that out. "Your logic makes my brain hurt, Dar. And you're selling yourself short."

"Whether I am or not, you still need a place to stay. You might as well be comfortable, and nearby, so that we can talk about the weird stuff happening here without people seeing you coming and going," Dar said.

Scratching his chin, Carth thought about it. It was true that they would probably need to consult with Dar over the next few days, making plans and picking Dar's brains for things no one else in House Vosaryk would tell them. The building had good security, better than a regular hotel's, and a private garage, and the apartment would be very comfortable, if Dar's place was any indication. The danger they were in was connected to the conspiracy, part and parcel, and Dar would be caught up anyway, whatever that mysterious 'they' planned to unleash. It would also please his friend to accept, and considering what Dar had done for them already, that was no small thing.

"Okay," Carth said. "You win, Dar."

Dar grinned. "Great! I'll have my droid restock the pantry and air out the place for you."

"That's okay, Dar, we've got our own droids to do that," Carth said. "We have to go pick him up from the hotel, in fact, along with the rest of our stuff."

"Why don't I take Dustil along to the tailor's right now, while you're doing all that?" Dar said. He took out a card case and selected a keycard, handing it to Carth. "Here, you can go check out the apartment and get settled in."

"I don't know..." Carth said, looking at the keycard uncertainly. "We really should go with you, Dar. Those guys could spot you -"

"Oh, don't be such a worrywort, Carth!" Dar scoffed. "How could they possibly keep tabs on everything that goes on in Sluis Van, with all the sentients in all the habitats? If it'll make you feel better, I'll take my blaster. The shop is just around the corner."

Dustil, at least, looked wary enough that he would be taking his blasters along, too. Of course, Korriban would've taught him to be prepared for anything, especially attacks. That unthinking caution and wariness made guilt twinge in Carth's heart for Dustil's lost innocence.

_Dammit, Dustil shouldn't have to worry about attacks, or being prepared to fight off assassins..._

"Well, it's up to you, Dustil," Carth said, feeling that he was already pushing his luck when he intended to accompany Dustil on his first date. "But take your weapons and make sure your comm's on." Dustil rolled his eyes at this paternal advice, but nodded.

Dustil hesitated. "Okay."

"Just you wait until _your_ kids are teenagers, Dar," Carth muttered when Dustil had gone out of earshot.

Dar held his hand to his forehead and flung out his other arm in a dramatic pose of despair. "Got a few years to go yet," he said over his shoulder as he followed Dustil.

"So I was thinking about who we should go as to this party," Revan said when they'd left.

"Oh?" Carth pulled her into his lap. "What?"

"I was thinking... I'll go as myself. As Revan."

* * *

With thanks to Prisoner 24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback.

Man, sorry for the long, long delay, guys. I would've finished this lots earlier, except my evil twin, Prisoner24601, decided to rope me into this "Mystery on Onderon" roleplaying thread (Naturally, I play Carth, hur hur hur.) on kotorfanmedia; so if you're gonna blame anyone, blame her! All other mistakes are mine, however.

I've also put a link to a picture of Dar Ges, and a link to the roleplaying thread, on my profile page.

GeekGirl2: You get your wish. Enjoy!

Leif of Rohan, Mortalis, Krazed Kaioshin Fangirl, avovisto, Kotor-geek, Revan's Pet Duck, Jaded Mystress: Thanks!

Tangi: More romance, okay. :) She is a bit hyper, isn't she? Still, I wanted her to be different from all the shy, retiring Revans out there who're always so darned annoyingly serene. Yes, there are mature versions, you'll need to email me (email address is on my profile). As for when Revan gets that pissed... well, that's in the future. ;) Thanks for liking the short story (and again you don't review!)

Feza's twin: Got it, okay. :) A break... what's that?

qt3.14159: Thanks! Heh, sorry about Dustil... the boy does get irritating at times, not just for you. :) Thanks for the compliments, but I don't think I'm good enough to get published; writing is exhausting, really, and I don't think I could do it enough for a living. So I'll just finish this fic, argh!

Prisoner 24601: You know who to blame, guys. Seriously, thanks for the fast beta. Embarrassing Dustil is the least I could do to him for giving me so much trouble.

Thug-4-Less: Thanks. :) Emotional shifts sudden? How so? I'm going to stay away from detailed descriptions of the mechanics, unless it's got something to do with the story (it's a murder weapon, for instance). Giant infodumps about tech in the middle of a plot is something of a pet peeve of mine, so none of that, sorry. What blasters Carth uses is pretty obvious from the game, and little clues sprinkled in with the plot (currently, he's using Saul's Sith assassin pistol and Fett's pistol, how's that), and he wears his swords strapped to his back, in sheathes.

Sera Terranova: Thanks! I'm not going to quit writing this story, don't worry. I do actually have original character stories, which you can see on my website. They're old, though, done for college.

Rascarin: Uh, no, came out pretty late, alas. But thanks anyway!

AzuriaZyfire: Thanks! Yeah, I'll be showing more of Lady Versenne. You'll see. :) As for the continuing in a new fic or not... I'm leaning towards not. It's not really a standalone, after all.

snackfiend101: Thanks! And another Bujold convert, hooray! Go read her Chalion series, I command thee!

Lunatic Pandora1: When did Revan pull a Bastila? Anyway, thanks. HK-47's coming after you with... :cue ominous music: a feather to tickle you to death!

Kazic: The butler? Mn... maybe. :D My email's right on my profile page.


	61. Interception

**Chapter 61: Interception**

Carth just stared at Revan for a long moment, not sure he believed his ears. "You... you want to go as your real self. To this Bazaar's End party. As yourself," he said, the words coming out slow and deliberate.

Revan nodded. "That's right."

"That's got to be the stupidest plan I've ever heard!" Carth said, his body stiffening. "Right up there with walking into the Sith base on Taris through the front doors!"

"That worked, too, remember?"

Carth raked a hand through his hair. "They didn't know who you were back then, for one thing! _Why_ would you come up with such an idiotic plan?"

Revan's face shut down into a typical Jedi's serene mask, and she stiffened in his lap.

"Don't," Carth blurted, unable to stop himself.

"Don't what?" Revan's calm face dissolved just as quickly into an expression of bafflement.

"Putting on that, that Jedi mask. I hate it when you do it to me - I don't know what you're thinking, and it's frustrating."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Revan's voice was cold, and she stood up.

"You come the Jedi at me whenever we talk about serious stuff like this," Carth said, struggling with his temper. "You can do that to the rest of the galaxy, but, but you don't need to do it to _me_."

"It's not something I can help." She folded her arms. "It's years of habit. I 'come the Jedi' at you because I _am_ a Jedi."

"Revan, this is me. Carth. You know?" he sighed. "You don't have to be a Jedi when you're with me, remember? You don't have to hide your emotions from me."

"Look, years of training have taken its toll," Revan said, looking exasperated and impatient. She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. It's a reflex. You'll have to remind me not to do it."

"All right." Carth stared into her unrepentant eyes. He shook his head, discarding the digression. "Revan, this has got to be the most lame-brained scheme you've ever come up with! This is a real bad idea."

Revan's voice turned cold again. "I wasn't aware I needed your permission to do anything, Carth." She walked towards the forcefield, turning her back on him.

"I'm not telling you what to do, dammit, I'm just saying this is a stupid idea!" Carth said, exasperation and anger mingling in his voice.

"There's a certain amount of risk -"

"A 'certain' amount?" Carth snapped. "I'd say a gigantic amount!"

"- but it's worth it if I can keep anyone else from getting hurt," Revan went on, ignoring his interjection.

"Oh, this I gotta hear," Carth said, folding his arms.

Revan turned to face him, ticking items off on her fingers. "First, my appearance would panic the conspirators here. Second, if any of them are still loyal to me, they'll come forward. Third, if they're no longer loyal, they'll try to kill me, which still means they'll break cover and won't attack anyone else. Once they're in the open where everyone can see them, the conspiracy will be revealed."

Carth ran a hand through his hair and vented a gusty sigh. "I think you've overlooked one important point, Revan, which is that you're _Revan_."

"That's what will make this work."

"Revan, dammit, you're the former Dark Lord who sent a damned task force to attack Sluis Van!" Carth said, waving his arm at the city seen beyond the forcefield. "Do you think they're gonna roll out the red carpet for you and welcome you with open arms?"

"They'll have no choice but to," Revan said with infuriating calm.

"Wanna explain why?"

Revan shrugged. "It's simple. I have diplomatic immunity. Level One Diplomatic Status, in fact."

How the hell had she finagled that? Carth thought about it, and realized it only made sense; the Senate would never have allowed her off Coruscant unless the Jedi had done some severe arm-twisting, which they'd already done just to keep the Senate from putting Revan on trial. The opening talks with the Rakatans must've been important enough for the Senate to agree, however reluctantly, to allow the trip. The Fleet must've agreed, too, and supported the Jedi Council somehow, otherwise Revan would've been held in the brig of a warship to take her to the Rakata homeworld; then again, the Fleet had been hit badly by the Sith assassins, too, which must've prompted some of the brass to look the other way.

But that little piece of flimsy, no matter how gilt-encrusted and seal-adorned, would stop people determined to exact 'justice'. Authority without substance was no authority at all.

Carth just stared at Revan. "And you think something like that's gonna _stop_ them?" he said, incredulous at hearing this bit of naivete.

"Well, yes."

"You've got to be _joking_!" Carth said, shaking his head. "Revan, Sluis Van's all the hell the way out here on the Outer Rim, about as far from Coruscant as you can get and still be in Republic space - and you think they'll _care_ two credits about your credentials? For that matter, what makes you think there're any Republic authorities who'd back up your claim or would even give a damn about you? What makes you think the _ambassador_ would?"

"Stick to piloting, Carth," Revan retorted. "Leave the politics to me."

His anger spiked at the dismissal. "Just because I'm just a soldier doesn't mean I'm stupid, or that I don't know how the game is played," Carth said, keeping the anger out of his voice with great effort, but he probably wasn't fooling her at all. "You go to that damned party, and you'll be shot full of holes faster than you can say 'Sith'! I mean, hell, they might even decide to put you on trial for war crimes against Sluis Van!"

"They never declared me as a war criminal. I checked."

Carth rubbed at his face. "Well, how long do you think _that'll_ last when they find out the former Dark Lord just crashed their fancy party?"

"The Sluissi, first of all, would be too shocked at my appearance to act. All governments need time for the wheels of bureaucracy to turn, and Sluis Van is no different. We won't be there long enough for them to send in their soldiers, just long enough to be seen." Revan made a cavalier throwing gesture.

"There'll still be plenty of guards at that party who'd be more than willing to blast you!" Carth shot back. "The bodyguards will all be armed, and there'll probably be plenty of the SVN brass there, too! Hell, the House Heads will probably be fighting for a space in line!"

"They won't risk offending the Republic, Carth," Revan said, sounding distant. "The Sluissi can't afford to have their food supply disrupted."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"The Sluis Van planet is a barren place. They live in habitats to get away from it. They grow food, but before they developed the tech, they could only do it underground. Even now, the orbital hydroponics farms can barely sustain the entire population of all the habitats."

"You're not suggesting that the Republic would starve the Sluissi out if they didn't follow their tune?" Carth said, horrified.

"No, but the Republic is the biggest buyer of Sluissi warships for a reason." Revan raised an eyebrow. "And the biggest supplier of foodstuffs and luxury goods. So you see, they can't do anything to me for fear of offering insult to the Republic."

"And I say it's a long way between Coruscant and Sluis Van! Dammit, woman, you're supposed to be the strategic genius here!" Carth said, almost shouting the words. "A lot can happen on the way, and garbled reports and cover-ups are what they'll use to hide what would really happen! Most if not the entire Senate and the military already hate your guts, and they won't shed any tears when reports of your death reach them! They already made their move last month with that damned war crime trial!"

Revan's face and eyes turned stony. "I'm quite aware of that, Carth," she said, and there was no discernible emotion in her voice.

He realized that his words had been less than tactful. _Yeah, tell her everyone hates her and wishes she were dead. What a great idea, Onasi._ But it didn't mean his words were any less true. He forged on, because he could only go forward.

"If you are, then why are you even _thinking_ about going as Revan? When you know the first thing they'll do is either capture or kill you?" Carth threw up his hands. "Don't you realize that, that _I'd_ try to stop them? And probably get shot full of holes for my troubles?"

"You shouldn't come with me, anyway," Revan said, looking away. "It's... it's not safe for you to be seen in public with me here."

"What? We were seen in public plenty of times for a whole month, remember? Getting paraded around like joygirls at a Hutt auction back on Coruscant by both the Senate and the Jedi Council."

"We were paraded around with the rest of the crew," Revan corrected. "We weren't seen just by ourselves." She turned, running her hand on the forcefield, which crackled as she almost but didn't quite touch it.

"So? We've been seen together at receptions and other events, too," Carth said. He stood and walked around her so that he wouldn't be talking to the back of her head, and so that he could see her face.

"Yes, but always within the context of the celebrations." Revan would not look at him. "Here, away from Coruscant, there'd be no escaping what being together with me would mean."

Carth snorted. "Have you heard the rumors lately? Or seen the gossip channels? Half the galaxy think we're lovers already, so why pretend otherwise?"

"That's just rumor. There will always be rumor, especially in the Core Worlds," Revan said, shaking her head. "But here on the Outer Rim... there'd be more truth to the rumors than sentients would normally see. They'll see us, together! There's no way they'll think we're not!"

"I don't care."

Revan whirled around and finally faced him squarely. "You should!"

Carth set his jaw. "I told you before that I don't care."

"Dammit, Carth, don't you _understand_?" Revan's face almost crumpled before it was shored up by Jedi serenity. "People would know that you're my lover for certain - they'll try to kill you, too!"

"They've been sending assassins after me already. What makes this any different?"

"Because only the Sith have come after you so far." Revan breathed out a sigh of frustration. "Now other... organizations, organizations that'll do anything to hurt me will know to hurt you, too. And if they try to hurt you, Dustil becomes vulnerable."

"Organizations? What organizations? The Exchange? Hutts?" Carth asked, frowning.

While he had known that most of the known galaxy was out to get her, he'd focused his attentions on the Sith, who had lost the most. He hadn't known the various crime syndicates had expressed an... interest in Revan, too; while revenge might be sweet, most high-ranking crime lords were pragmatic, and wouldn't spend more credits than it was worth to kill Revan. Of course, that was just his assessment, based on nothing more than instinct and common sense.

"It doesn't matter who, only that they'll try to hurt me, through you."

"I can take care of myself."

"Can you stand being labeled as, as some sort of strange, perverted traitor, then?" Revan shot him an exasperated, angry look.

"You think I care about my reputation? I told you on Coruscant that I didn't, and I'm not about to start caring about it now." Carth planted himself in an obstinant pose.

"I care!" Revan exclaimed, startling him with her vehemence. "I care," she repeated in a more normal tone. "What will your friends, people like Dar, think of you when they find out?"

"If they think less of me for loving you, then they aren't my friends at all," Carth said, shrugging.

"And what if complete strangers treat you like you've got the Iridian plague?" Revan returned.

"Who cares about _them_?"

Revan pressed her hand against the forcefield, its energy crackling and popping as she made contact with the shimmering curtain. Carth reached out and grabbed her hand.

"What the hell do you think you're _doing_?" Carth snapped, staring at the mild electrical burns on her palm and fingers.

"You, you, stubborn, idiot _man_!" Revan snatched her hand away, clenching it into a fist.

Maybe having her still and serene as a Jedi statue wasn't so bad after all, when this was what she presented him with. _Be careful what you wish for..._

"What'd I do?" Carth said in genuine puzzlement.

"You!" Revan huffed. "You stubborn, pigheaded-as-a-Gamorrean man! I tell you that you shouldn't come with me, and yet you insist on coming!"

"Oh, yeah? How about I tell you that you're just as pigheaded and stubborn as you say I am, sister?" Carth growled. "You go as Revan, and you'll damage relations between the Republic and Sluis Van! Did you think of that, genius? The Republic's weakened from the Mandalorian and Sith wars, enough that anything can send it teetering right now!"

"I told you, the Sluissi can't afford to offend their biggest supplier and buyer. All that will happen will be a formal complaint, sent to the Senate through the Republic ambassador here - that's all."

Carth thought he heard the faintest trace of uncertainty in her words, and he pounced on it, pressing his advantage.

"You can't know that for sure," Carth said. "And who the hell do you think you are, making decisions as to what can or can't affect the Republic? You think you know more than all the political analysts the Republic has? You think you've got all the information they've got access to? Or is this Jedi intuition talking? You say all they'll do is lodge an official protest, but it makes life a bit hard on the ambassador here, doesn't it? We'll leave once this mess is sorted out, but _he_ has to _live_ here."

"He'll get over it. This won't cause as large an incident as you might think."

Carth sucked in a breath and prayed to the Force for patience. "Look, don't tell me you expect a warm reception! I'll tell you what _I_ think will happen: You'll be captured or killed, the Sluissi will fabricate some sort of cover story and send the Republic an apology, the Republic will be all offended, but most if not all of the Senate will be glad a problem like you has finally been swept under the rug. Meanwhile, you'd be dead, I'd either be in jail or dead, which would leave Dustil stranded here all alone!"

"Then don't come with me! It's what I've been saying all along!"

"If you think I'd let you waltz in there by yourself, you've got another think coming."

Revan glared up at him. "This would be so much easier if you were ashamed to be seen in public with me."

"I'm not, so too bad. This would be so much easier if you didn't plan on acting on such a stupid idea," Carth said. "I'm damned if I'll let one of them touch or hurt you. And you know they will. The minute you're announced, half the guards will try to capture you, and the other half will just shoot you!"

A fey light danced in her eyes like the fires of a burning city.

"Let them try," Revan breathed.

Her words turned Carth's blood cold, and the metallic taste of fear and anger flooded his mouth. He took her by the arms and shook her, hard. "Stop it! J-j-just stop it! I'm not gonna let you commit suicide by numbers!"

The fey light faded, and some semblance of what he hoped was sanity returned. He took in a deep, desperate breath, and breathed out a silent sigh of relief as he released his tight grip on her.

"Look, just try something else, dammit. I'll admit it's a sound enough plan in principle, but it's just not gonna be feasible in execution," Carth said, wincing at his own choice of words. "Maybe... maybe we can spread _rumors_ that you've been seen here. I bet Dar's as big a gossip as ever; he'll help spread them."

For a moment, Carth thought Revan would continue to argue, and he braced himself for the inevitable.

Revan took in a deep breath of her own and sighed, "All right."

"Dammit, I told you - what?" Carth said, his words tumbling over each other as he took in her answer; her capitulation left him off balance, like a man running towards a door, expecting to break it down by force, has found that it had been unlocked. He opened and shut his mouth, staring at her, wondering what the catch was.

"I said, 'all right'. You win. But..." - Revan raised a finger - "if I can't go as Revan, then _you_ have to go as yourself."

"Uh, why? Er, not that I mind, really. At least no one among the Sluissi or the House Heads would be gunning for _me_," Carth said, hoping he wasn't wrong; they'd been in disguise when they'd infiltrated House Khyrohn, after all.

"Because while your idea of spreading rumors of my presence here has merit, there won't really be enough time for them to percolate back down to the ears of the conspirators... unless they came from an impeccable, reliable source. And what better source could there be than Carth Onasi, a hero of the Star Forge known to... associate with Revan?"

"Oh, well, when you put it that way..." Carth rubbed his neck. At least this way he wouldn't have to choose what to wear. "You know, I was planning on something a lot more low-key, like, oh, going in as staff or something."

"This isn't the sort of party where they need bouncers. At least, not bouncers that look like you." She reached up and trailed a finger down one of the fake scars on his face.

"So what're you going as?"

There was a glint in Revan's eyes that made alarms ring in Carth's head. "Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something," she said, sweeping her lashes down over her eyes in an imitation of a demure lady.

"What're you up to?" Carth said, wariness in his voice as he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Nothing you need to worry your handsome head over," Revan said with too much bright cheer.

"I always worry when you tell me not to. Especially when you're smiling like that." Carth rubbed his face. "I suppose you'll have to take this gunk off my face, and I'll need to take a color inhibitor to get rid of my dark complexion for a few hours."

"And get you a dress uniform."

Carth groaned, wincing at the thought of having his neck and chin chafed for at least an hour. "Argh, don't remind me." He looked at his chrono. "Come on, we'd better go get our other droid and the rest of our stuff from the hotel."

Revan opened her mouth to say something, but she was interrupted when both their wristcomms squealed; Carth's mouth went dry when he realized it was the emergency distress signal. He slapped the receive key, visions of various disasters rampaging through his mind.

"Dustil?" Carth said. "Dustil, what is it? Where are you?" Revan hovered close, matching anxiety and fear on her face.

"It's Dar, Carth." Dar's voice sounded instead of his son's, and Carth's fear and anxiety grew even more, and he didn't even think that was possible.

"Dar? Where's -"

"Dustil's just fine, but he's too busy returning fire to talk," Dar said, sounding entirely too damned calm. Carth could hear blaster fire in the background, now that he listened for it.

"Dammit, what the hell's going on, Dar?" Carth snapped.

"It'd take too long to explain; we could use some help here. We're at the intersection of Bissesthra and Sheshan. They've got us pinned down in the back alley behind a leather goods store. I _think_ there're only three of them, but they might've called for reinforcements."

"We're on our way," Carth said, and cut the comm as he headed at a dead run for the doors, Revan following behind. "Blast, we'll need our weapons!"

"Do you think they actually found us?" Carth asked as they grabbed their weapons from Dar's closet. "How the hell?"

"Accident, I'm thinking," Revan said, buckling her swords on. "He said there were only three of them - there wouldn't be so few if they'd been planning an actual ambush."

"That's not to say they won't succeed, planned or not, if they get their backup in time," Carth growled, taking out his pad and tapping the directions Dar had given them on the map.

Instead of waiting for the elevator, Revan caught his hand, and they ran, the walls blurring past as they went to the roof. Carth pelted into the cockpit, sure he had taken some skin off squeezing past the cargo bins, and threw himself into the chair. He buckled himself in and fired up the engines - there was no time to do a proper preflight check.

"Does this thing even have vertical take-off and landing capabilities?" Revan asked as she strapped in and started scanning the map.

"I'll make do," Carth muttered with a fraction of his attention as he flew the shuttle up and plunged straight down into a busy stream of vehicles, breaking each and every traffic regulation as the ship dropped nose-first into a momentary hole left by passing craft. Carth was pressed into his seat as he increased acceleration.

_Please, don't let us be too late..._

Swoops and speeders flew aside, trying to avoid a collision, and ended up sideswiping each other. Honks and beeps sounded, and Traffic Control screamed on the comm at them until Revan shut it off, cutting the apoplectic controller in mid-sentence.

The shuttle screamed down the canyons of the capital city buildings, apart from any traffic, and in direct opposition to the rules. Carth opened up the throttle, urging still more speed out of the engines, and the responsive Zephyr leapt in answer to his hand. Dodging other vehicles that scattered like gizka when the tuk'ata jumped among them, Carth flew the shuttle right into the alley Dar said they'd taken refuge in, turning the shuttle on its side when it grew too narrow to accommodate the ship - there was barely enough clearance as it was. Behind him, he could hear the cargo bins rattling and falling as the ship turned, banging and clanking together as they rolled with the movement. Carth was pressed against his left side by gravity, the straps digging into his shoulder.

"There they are!" Revan pointed.

"I see them!" Relief crashed over Carth when he saw that they both seemed to be all right - for now.

Dar and Dustil had been shooting over hastily stacked crates behind a shop. Now they were huddled behind them, using their arms to cover their faces from the debris the wind of their passage blew up. Carth left them behind, surging straight for another pile of crates several dozen meters away. He deplored the lack of weapons on the ship, but not the shields when the bolts impacted, light flickering in crazed patterns as the particle screens took the hits.

Carth flew the shuttle forward, then pulled the yoke up, turning the ship on its stern, and glided back to Dustil and Dar's position, still sideways, and opened the hatch when he had lowered the ship as much as he could to the ground; the two would just have to climb in. Carth had his hands full juggling the maneuvering thruster controls; there were no repulsorlift coils on the sides, just on the belly, and he had to be meticulous in his care to keep the shuttle steady enough for Dustil and Dar to climb up.

The men who'd been shooting suddenly surged up and over their barricade, running after Dustil and Dar, taking out blades when their blasters could no longer reach the two men, now that the bulk of the shuttle hid them from view. Carth half-lifted himself from his seat, torn between going to help and staying put to fly them out of danger the second the hatch closed; he couldn't leave because he was the only one skilled enough to keep the ship steady on its side. Revan had already left her seat, and he had to trust her to manage them.

Gritting his teeth, Carth flicked on the rear sensors and waited, fuming with frustration and anxiety. Neither Dar nor Dustil had brought swords... assuming Dar was even any good at using them. He saw Dustil catch the blade Revan tossed to him, and draw it just in time to parry a blow. Another sword swept down at Dar, but he caught it by the blade with inhuman speed. Carth gaped, until he remembered Dar's left arm was a prosthesis. Caught off balance, the sword swinger went down when Dar blasted him at point blank range. Then he reholstered his gun, grabbed Dustil by his belt and the back of his tunic, and heaved him bodily up to the hatch, where Revan hauled on Dustil's arm to get him inside. Dar turned, but a straggler caught him with a blade right in the back. Dar went out of the sensor's view.

"Dar!" Carth shouted, and shot to his feet - or tried to, since he was still in his safety harness. He heard shouts and the sound of blaster fire.

"Carth, let's go! We've got both of them!" Revan called, shouting to be heard over the roar of the wind the thrusters were generating. Carth could hear their cursing as they stumbled amongst the jumbled containers.

There was no time to get them all strapped in before he flew them out. "Grab onto something!" Carth yelled over his shoulder, and gave them only a few seconds to do so before throwing power to the thrusters and flying straight up out of the alley. Once he had enough clearance, he straightened out the ship, hearing more curses, and the containers banging as they rolled back down from the sides to the floor.

Carth flew them out of that district and headed for the crowd of ships going to the busy spaceport, figuring they'd get lost in it. There were plenty of other _Zephyr_-class ships flying in and out of docking bays, so there'd be no way for anyone to track them; they'd probably assume they'd left the habitat entirely, heading for one of the others.

The minute he landed the shuttle, Carth undid his harness and rushed to the back, nearly pitching head over heels when he tripped on a bin.

"Dar!" Carth called. "Are you okay?"

"Yep." Dar stood in the middle of the shuttle, helping Revan and Dustil stack the bins more neatly; the hilt of the sword stuck out his back. Carth stared at it, goggle-eyed.

"Dustil, are you okay?" Carth asked, turning to his son when Dar didn't seem at all discomforted by having centimeters of durasteel in his body.

"Uh, yeah, yeah. I'm... I'm fine," Dustil replied, his attention riveted to the sword moving in and out of Dar's stomach with his every breath.

"Dar, you've got a fracking sword stuck through you!" Carth snapped, pointing out what Dar seemed to be ignoring. And why wasn't Dar bleeding at all? Revan and Dustil looked on with confused bemusement.

Dar stared down at the point that exited his stomach. "Yes, I know! Do you know how expensive glittersilk is on Sluis Van?"

"Dar..."

"I mean, this tunic was custom-made, yanno!"

"Dar..." Carth said, trying to get a word in edgewise.

"And it was a birthday present! My best tunic!"

"Dar, dammit..."

"And the wife got this for me!" Dar jabbed an indignant finger at the hole the sword had made, plucking at the rich, shiny fabric with his other hand. "She's going to kill me," he moaned.

"Dar!" Carth roared, his voice thunderous in the confines of the cramped shuttle.

Dar winced, and rubbed an ear with one hand while he gave Carth a reproachful look. "I'm not deaf, Carth... my ears are still the original working parts."

"Screw your tunic, Dar - you've got a damned _sword_ in your damned _gut_, for the Force's sake!" Carth said, stabbing an accusing finger at the offending implement.

"So?" Dar glanced down. "It's nowhere near my power core. I've got new working parts, remember?" He tapped his hollow-sounding stomach. "Although I'll have to get it checked out and patch the damned holes. Maybe the tailor can fix it."

Carth wasn't sure if Dar meant the holes in his body or the tears on his tunic. "J-just let me take it out, Dar," he said, running a hand that shook a little through his hair. "You look like a fracking hors d'oeuvre on a stick."

Dar held still, and Carth put a hand on the hilt, took a deep breath, and yanked it out as fast as he could without doing anymore damage. He tried not to think about how he'd done the same for Revan. Dar didn't even flinch. Carth bent and poked at the hole on Dar's stomach, where little flakes of synthskin were flaking off from the damaged area.

"Hey, I like you, Carth, but I don't like you _that_ much," Dar said, slapping his hand away.

Straightening up, Carth shot the older man an exasperated glare. "Shut up, Dar. Do we need to patch you up or something? Er, I dunno, plug the holes with sealant?"

"Nah, I'll just go to the medic and have them slap on some new synthskin, and that'll be that."

Carth wasn't sure whether to be appalled at Dar's nonchalance or glad his friend wasn't seriously hurt. He sat down on a bin. "What the hell happened, anyway?"

Dar looked sheepish and embarrassed. "Yanno, you told me there were people after you, and, um, to be honest, I didn't really believe you."

"I guess it does sound pretty wild, now that I think about it," Carth admitted. "But that doesn't tell me what happened."

"I don't know where they came from - one minute we were walking back, and the next, I'm getting a blaster bolt tan. The first inkling I had that there really _were_ people gunning for us was when Dustil yanked me into an alley. It's thanks to him I don't have a smoking hole or three in my head, so I was saved by another Onasi again."

"He wasn't aiming at you, Mr. Ge - uh, Dar," Dustil interjected. "He was aiming for me, but I don't think he would've cared if he hit you, too."

"Did you spot them with..." Carth waved a hand in a vague wave to indicate the Force. Dustil nodded.

"I'm sorry, Carth. I should've been more alert," Dar said, shaking his head, his lips thinned in an angry line. "I should've spotted them."

"It's not your fault, sir," Dustil said with a shake of his head. "I didn't see them either, I, uh..." - Dustil was obviously running through various responses in his head, and discarding them - "I, uh, saw the crowd moving weird." Carth took that to mean his son had actually felt them through the Force, but didn't feel comfortable enough to reveal it to Dar.

"Anyway, we took cover, and I thought we'd lost them when we ran for it through the alleys, but they kept right on us like they knew the backways as well as I did," Dar continued, tugging on his earring. "We ended up in that dead end where you found us. Nice flying, by the way."

"Any idea how they found you?" Revan said.

Dar shook his head. "I think they found us by accident," Dustil said. "They had seven or eight the time they tried to arrest us. Wouldn't they have sent more if they'd really decided to ambush us?"

Carth nodded. "We were lucky this time. Dar, you shouldn't get any more involved than you have. I-I don't want to have to explain to your kids and wife what happened to you. It's too dangerous for you to risk your life."

As Carth had feared, Dar's jaw tightened into a stubborn line. "Forget it, Carth! I'm _not_ gonna leave you high and dry."

"You're not - _we're_ leaving!" Carth pointed out, exasperated. "We can find another hotel, lead the trail away from you -"

"How do you know they haven't put me on their hit list already?"

"All the more reason for us to stay away from you - we'll scatter their targets!" Carth retorted.

"Wait," Revan interrupted. "Dar, can you contact the other captains?"

Dar blinked at the abrupt change of subject. "Why?"

"What if this really _were_ an attack on you, and not Dustil?" Revan said.

"Er, why?" Dar asked, looking as perplexed as Carth felt at the question.

"To take out the civilian defenders of Sluis Van," Revan said slowly, as if she were still thinking about it. "The merchant fleets are auxiliaries in times of war, aren't they?"

"But wouldn't it have been easier to just take the captains down at the shipyard?" Carth said. "You'd feel safe there, wouldn't you, Dar? You wouldn't think anyone would try to kill you there."

"Well, no..." Dar rubbed his chin. "But we hardly ever spend our time at the yard - we only go there for meeting the Head, and the security around any Head is always tight as a drum. That's what I was doing this afternoon, when we ran into each other. We're usually either in our downside offices, or we're on the ships, coordinating stuff. I'm usually at the flight training facility, myself, just a parsec away."

"You'd better check on the others, Dar, just in case, and give 'em a warning," Carth said.

Dar nodded, standing up and going outside. While Dar whispered into his wristcomm, Carth turned to Dustil. "Good job, son."

Dustil hitched up one shoulder in a shrug, as if being blasted and attacked were no more an inconvenience than being stuck in traffic or rained on. Again Carth felt a twinge of guilt at seeing Dustil's nonchalance for violence, then told himself again that innocence and wide-eyed shock would've gotten his son killed.

The idea of leaving Sluis Van and all its troubles behind in the _Ebon Hawk's_ ion wake had been getting more and more attractive - at least until Carth had found Dar. Now he knew he couldn't abandon his friend when there was something bad going down very soon, especially now that Dar had a family. Carth rubbed his forehead and wondered how the hell they'd gotten into this mess.

_Oh, yeah. Revan._

"So... what do we do now?" his son asked.

"You're asking me?" Carth said, scratching his head. "Find another hotel, I guess - we can't stay with Dar anymore -"

"I heard that, Carth," Dar said, walking back in. "I'm not having it. Anyway, the others haven't run into anything, but I told them to be on their guard. Security is tight everywhere at the properties right now."

Carth glowered at Dar, a small part of him wondering at his friend's vehemence; he decided it was just worried concern and the blasted Corellian sense of stubborn honor.

"And just how are we going to be able to talk if you're on the damned ship?" Dar asked.

"Comm -"

"Comms can be intercepted," Dar pointed out with irritating smugness. "Besides, just because _you're_ slacking off doesn't mean I can. We might not have time, between you running around sightseeing and getting shot at, and me due out at the training center. And how're we supposed to coordinate for the party?"

"'Coordinate'?" Carth repeated. He glanced at the other two. "We just need to get in - what do we need to coordinate for?"

"Who you're going as, for one thing. I have to give your names, or, uh, _some_ names, to the security people." Dar held up his hands.

Carth sat back, dismayed. "Dammit, Dar... can't we try somewhere else nearby?" Dar was right, but he didn't have to like it. While he'd like to lead pursuit away from Dar, he wanted to also be near enough to make sure Dar was safe.

Dar shrugged. "You need proper papers to stay anywhere outside Transients, if you don't plan on living here more than a year."

"But there must be lots of people who break that rule," Dustil interjected.

"Yeah," Dar agreed, "but they've got their own arrangements. Arrangements I don't know how to get, other than what I've already offered you. It's either here, or... wait, you can probably stay at House Vosaryk -"

"No," Carth and Revan said simultaneously. Revan opened her hand to Carth.

"We, uh... we don't want to stay there. It's too fancy for the likes of us, for one thing," Carth said. _And there's that pesky traitor still running around, and they never did tell us how those kidnappers had found out about Lady Versenne going out without her bodyguard..._

Dar scratched his head. "Then I don't see where you have too many options. I guess you're stuck with me, kid."

Carth gave his friend a dark look for that last, and he elbowed his son when Dustil snickered. "I'll tell you what... I'll park our ship in your garage, but we stay on board. That way, they won't know you've got guests, and we can still stay nearby."

"You don't know what you're missing, but sure." Dar nodded.

"We shouldn't go back together," Carth added, giving his friend an apologetic look.

"Oh, sure, ditch the guy who's offering you his hospitality," Dar groused, but he winked. "You've got my comm, yeah?" Carth nodded. "Then if you need anything, just comm me. I'll take a random shuttle to the Vosaryk flight training facility; you can find me there. Dustil's new gear will be sent to my place in about an hour."

He had completely forgotten about the entire reason Dar and Dustil had gone out. "Oh, yeah. Uh, thanks, Dar. For everything."

A strange expression flickered across Dar's face, a look of... regret? It was gone before Carth could confirm his guess, if he'd even seen anything at all.

"Hey, you don't have to thank me." He gripped Carth's hand. "Friends help each other out, right? Like when they need to be bailed out of jail, and know when to get the good booze out if they're feeling down."

"I owe you a whole damned case of Whyren's Reserve, Dar."

"That you do." Dar waved to them and stepped out the hatch.

Carth watched the hatch cycle closed before turning to Revan. "Now what?"

"Um, now I suppose we go back and make sure those new clothes fit Dustil, after we move our stuff back into the _Hawk_." Revan shrugged. "And then we need to have another etiquette lesson."

"_Another_ one?" Dustil protested in a plaintive voice. He glowered at them, folding his arms. "I'm _not_ eating any snails."

"If it's snails again, I'm with you, son," Carth agreed.

"Mutiny, is it?" Revan smirked. "But don't worry, this is much less... adventurous. If you're going to be meeting all these... um, people, you'll need to know how to address them."

Dustil turned a lugubrious face towards Carth. "Father..." he pleaded, twitching his hand towards Revan in a _stop her!_ motion.

"Uh..." Carth rubbed his nose. "If it's just for one night, maybe that's not necessary."

"Oh, well, if you don't want to impress Lady Versenne by already knowing how to walk the walk and talk the talk, then feel free to skin out of it." Revan shrugged.

"It's true that knowing stuff like that without prompting would impress her," Carth added.

Dustil's face was a picture of agonized decision. "All right," he muttered in graceless acquiesence after a while.

"Don't worry, I'm sure Carth needs his memory refreshed, too," Revan offered sweetly.

"What?" Carth stared at her. "What the hell for?"

"You'd be going as yourself, right? Commodore Onasi wouldn't be ignorant of these things, would he?"

Carth didn't like the misery-loves-company grin Dustil turned on him. "Why not? He's ignorant of all sorts of things. What are protocol droids for if not for stuff like that?"

"We don't have a protocol droid at the moment."

"Blast it..." Carth sighed, resigned to his fate. He glowered at his son. "Don't you say a damned thing."

"Who, me?"

* * *

With thanks to Prisoner 24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback.

Bah. I got tired of staring at this damned chapter, and what with the roleplaying game Prisoner24601 sucked me into, and World of Warcraft (for which I also blame Prisoner24601), this chapter is incredibly late. Thanks to those of you who've chosen to stick around. Believe me, I'm sticking to this fic, and I'll finish it if it kills me. However, I'm as susceptible as the next person to shiny things...

Alexandra3: Thanks for the compliments, and I hope this chapter will show you that I'm still with you guys.

JDRVJonas: Shaddup, you. :)

irishgirl: Yes, but he's in disguise, so he's wearing contacts that turn his eyes emerald green.

OnasiGirl: Here you go! And thanks!

LordZero: Here. Happy now?

Aurelius, Mortalis, Josh, noneko, OnasiMagic, Sera Terranova: Glad you enjoyed. I really liked writing Dar and Carth; in fact, I've written parts of that conversation months before.

Prisoner 24601: I figured writing a few original characters instead of many would keep people's attention more.

Dinah Lance: Woo, a long review to make up for the lack of them, heh! Yeah, I know I have a problem with pacing - I'm working on it.

Feza: That was... profound. :D

Kazic: Thanks! And the unmasking's not until after, hehee. Stay tuned!

Revan's Pet Duck, Menolly Onasi: Thanks!

avovisto: Some parts, like Dar and Carth's conversation, were written months before. Others I write on the way, and sometimes I have problems with pacing as I try to reconcile the new bits with the old bits.

JediRevanOnasi: Thanks! I think I answered you in IRC, but the white noise generator basically masks conversation and foils eavesdroppers.

GeekGirl2: Well, no, she doesn't go as herself. But Revan will get her revenge...

Lunatic Pandora1: Quiet, you. It just gives you an excuse to reread previous chapters, eh?


	62. Party

**Chapter 62: Party**

Dustil felt absolutely ridiculous.

His nervous fingers plucked at the rich fabric of his new Sluis Van-style tunic, bought at exhorbitant price, and moved on to the thick, gold-embroidered half-cloak slung on his shoulders. _Bet I look like a tawdry aristo with a real gilt trip._

"Are you _sure_ this is the right thing for me to wear on Sluis Van?" Dustil asked his father in a dubious tone, knowing he'd already asked the same question a few minutes ago.

"Stop worrying," Father said, brushing imaginary lint off Dustil's shoulder and straightening the hang of the cloak. "You look great." There was an odd smile playing about his lips. "Real handsome."

"Really?" Dustil looked down at his shiny new boots. They felt stiff and uncomfortable, even though they'd been custom-made. And the whole outfit made him feel overheated. "Why does it have to be so thick?" he asked, pulling at the collar. It was better to think about trivialities like that than the moment approaching.

"The Sluissi like it to be cooler than humans like." His father stepped back and looked Dustil up and down. His strange smile deepened. "Your mother would be so proud to see you looking like this."

"Really?" Dustil stopped picking at the bottom seam of his tunic. "I-I wish she was here," he said in a low voice. _I miss you, Mom._ She'd know what to do.

"Me, too." Father looked at a loss for words, but rallied and said, "Come on, you don't want to be late for your date, right? Dar borrowed a speeder from a friend for the occasion."

"Speeder?" Dustil repeated. "I-I thought we were going in the shuttle."

Father snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, we can't have you showing up in a grubby shuttle! You're gonna go in style. With a chaffeur and everything."

Little bubbles of panic started to rise in Dustil's stomach. "But I thought you were going, too." _What else have I forgotten? What am I supposed to do? What do I say to her?_ His mind continued to gibber until his father's words registered.

"- flowers," Father finished, and gave him an expectant look.

"What?"

"I said, I thought it'd be traditional to bring flowers," Father repeated.

"Flowers?" The bubbles transformed into butterflies that beat their wings against his stomach. "Where am I gonna get flowers at this time of the night?" Dustil started to reach for his newly cut hair, in order to pull it out.

"Relax." Father caught his wrist, stopping Dustil from ruining an hour's work, and pressed a bouquet of flowers into his hand. "Here. Sluis Van tradition says you give nebula orchids with a single moonflower in the middle. I checked."

"Uh, thanks." Dustil clutched the bouquet in a death grip. At the moment, it was the one sensible thing he grasped in a world gone suddenly strange and overwhelming.

"Come on, speeder's waiting." Father hustled him out of the elevator and onto the parking lot roof.

"But what about you?" Dustil asked, bewildered. "I thought you were going, too." It was disconcerting to see his father with the disguise off and looking like normal, and it was even more disconcerting to know that his plans had changed. This wasn't a night where he wanted any surprises.

"Right behind you, yeah," Father agreed. "We'll be nearby, but we won't come in for a while."

Dustil sank into the plush embrace of the leather seat, feeling suddenly alone and abandoned. While he was very relieved to know that his father wouldn't be there to witness any mistakes he made, he also knew Father wouldn't be there to help. _Not that I need any help._ When Father made to close the canopy, Dustil stopped him and blurted, "What do I do? W-what do I say?"

He knew how to use a sword or a lightsaber, and he knew any number of ways to kill people, but how to socialize with a girl outside of the confines of a closet was a mystery. Selene hadn't needed persuading. Or courting.

Father stopped and looked at him in surprise. "Uh... well. Treat her with respect. Don't lie. Don't ever criticize her - at least, not in a negative way... compliments are always good." He grinned, his teeth a sudden white flash in the darkness, and squeezed Dustil's shoulder. "You'll do fine."

And then the canopy was closed, the speeder was in the air, and Dustil was on his way to Bazaar's End.

_Frak, you've been through all sorts of things on Korriban. This isn't the time to panic!_ Dustil resisted the urge to pluck the petals off the flowers in his nervousness. _I'll mess this up, I won't mess this up, I'll mess this up..._

_Remember the time Master Uthar made you kneel in front of the whole class and recite the Sith Code, and you totally went blank after the "there is no peace" line? Remember the time Shardaan stole your notes just before that big oral exam and Yuthura picked you to go first?_

Dustil slapped himself on the forehead. _Don't think about Korriban._

Much too soon, the lights of the capital city approached, looking like the stars when the ship exited hyperspace. Huge spotlights played around the Conclave, picking out the gleaming highlights of the central dome. The protocol droid, lent to Dustil for the occasion, piloted the speeder through the waiting throngs, straight to a slim tower, House Vosaryk. The smell of crushed flowers registered, and he stopped squeezing the bouquet.

Dustil tried a few meditation exercises to unknot his stomach, but he kept losing his concentration. Maybe if the tower weren't approaching _quite_ so fast... He breathed deeply, then out, in the simplest of the exercises, and the only one he was capable of doing at the moment.

The speeder slid into a bright-lit bay, full of Vosaryk-liveried bodies, most of them clustered around a small armored shuttle. Bekim's familiar rotund figure was waiting when the droid landed them on the pad. Dustil swallowed, opened the canopy, and stepped out. Bekim looked him up and down, and his expression of resignation settled into one of grudging approval.

Dustil straightened up, head held high. _Yeah, I clean up nice, huh? _That was the trick, pretend Bekim was a would-be Sith prospect, full of hope and anxious to get into the academy.

"This way, sir." Bekim beckoned him to the shuttle. Two guards fell into step behind him; Dustil tried not to twitch.

The milling bodies moved aside for Bekim, and Dustil walked up the ramp and into the shuttle. If he hadn't seen the exterior, Dustil would've mistaken the plush-lined cabin for another study, filled as it was with rich appointments. Part of him was impressed, but another part shook its head at all the potential things that would be so much ballast and flying shrapnel if the shuttle ever had an accident. The air was filled with a pleasant spice, to cover the inevitable closed-in smell of cycled atmosphere.

Versenne rose from a couch, Captain Morin standing like a grim statue behind her. Dustil found himself tongue-tied as he looked at her, dressed in dark blue, with silver embroidery that matched her eyes exactly. The rest of the fine details were lost in the soft haze Dustil was thinking in. He remembered to bow to her.

"Stiller, thank you for coming," Versenne said with a smile. There was a faint blush to her cheeks.

"Uh, i-it was my pleasure." Dustil could've kicked himself; he bet Father never stuttered in front of a woman.

"Let us get underway, then." Versenne gave her captain a significant glance, and Morin took the hint to leave them alone, though not without a parting frown of disapproval. Dustil couldn't tell if it was disapproval of him, or his lady's decision to be alone with a stranger without a guard.

"Please, sit," Versenne said.

Dustil sat gingerly next to her on the couch, and they talked about inconsequential things. And not about assassinations or deaths or the troubles with fathers by unspoken agreement. Mostly, he just listened.

It was a short trip, and the part Dustil had been dreading had arrived. The roar under his feet subsided to a gentle purr, then there were two minute jolts as the shuttle landed.

_Okay. I know how this part goes._ The guide to etiquette datapad had been very clear on this.

Dustil rose and held out his hand. Just like in the instructional holo, Versenne took his hand and rose in a cascade of blue and gold silk, her platinum blonde hair a waterfall down her back. He fixed what he hoped was a suave, sophisticated smile on his face, and tucked her hand under his arm.

"Let's go, Lady."

It shouldn't have struck him as odd, but the Bazaar's End party was just like the one his father had taken him to on Coruscant. The only difference was the space; instead of a Senate reception hall, it was held in the vast dome of the Conclave itself. The tiers of seats where the Heads normally sat had been retracted into the walls, creating a vast floor space for the glittering crowds. He'd never been here before, but Dustil thought it seemed somehow familiar. As if he'd seen it somewhere.

Dustil tried not to gawk like a country bumpkin at his first revelry as Sluissi moved past in their sinuous gait, their normally utilitarian harnesses inlaid with gems and precious metals. To his infinite relief, men dressed like him strolled up to Versenne to pay their respects, their wives snapping their handheld fans open with deft flicks of their wrists as they looked over the edges at him. Dustil felt like a ronto on the auction block. Or a rancor at a petting zoo. He smiled stiffly, resisting the urge to run or make them go away with the Force.

It was too bright, too hot, the lights reflecting off jewels and gems and rich fabrics. Dustil felt out of place and clumsy, and if it hadn't been for the woman on his arm, he would've retreated right back to the hotel. His feet were starting to hurt in the new boots, and he wanted something to drink very badly. It wasn't until he realized Versenne's speech had dried up the moment they'd stepped into the Conclave that she was also uncomfortable. Not only uncomfortable, but worried.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, steering her in the direction of the buffet. He hoped it was something food and drink could fix.

"No, not... wrong as such," she said, allowing him to lead her. Her wrinkled brow gave the lie to her words.

"You can tell me," Dustil said. _Did I do something wrong? Maybe I'm supposed to ask her to dance, or something._ Panic started rising up again.

Versenne's smile was tight when he handed her a glass of champagne. "If you do not think it would bore you, then... come, let us go to a more private space to speak of it."

This time it was she who led him, moving at a sedate pace through the crowds when various dignitaries kept stopping her for a few brief words. Dustil tried not to fidget in nervous impatience. Her face, he noticed, smoothed out into a professional business mask whenever someone moved to speak to her, but through the Force, worried puzzlement emanated from her. He wished he could do something about it. Anything to make her smile again.

A wizened old woman, who looked like she suffered from a combination of constipation and bad taste, finally stopped talking and left with her much younger escort; Dustil calculated at least a fifty-year difference between the two.

"She looks like she's been sucking on green tangerettes her whole life," Dustil observed.

"You _are_ referring to Lady Serenar?" Versenne asked, giving him a prim look. "She _is_ the Head of House Serenar."

Dustil was about to backpedal at high speed until he saw the sparkle in her eyes. He relaxed and grinned. "Yeah, her. I kinda feel sorry for her date," Dustil added.

"He will be very well compensated for his time."

"For his sake, I hope it's a lot," he muttered.

Versenne's only response was snapping her fan open, hiding her smile as her eyes crinkled at him. She looked up when the majordomo, a protocol droid, announced the new arrivals.

"Commodore Carth Onasi, Lady Kest of Alderaan!"

The dull roar of conversation fell to a muted hum at the announcement, as it hadn't for any other new arrival. To Dustil's complete disgust, Versenne was staring in the direction of the couple, and trying to get a better view just like everyone else.

_Of all the lousy timing, Father..._

"Oh. He really is as handsome as he looks on the HoloNet. But I thought he would be taller," Versenne murmured. Dustil gritted his teeth at his father, dressed in his striking black and gold uniform.

The crowd came back to life, conversations starting back up like swoop engines as various groups of sentients made their way to cluster around his father and Revan. Versenne gave up her rubbernecking when the view was blocked.

"They say he's got strange taste in women," Dustil muttered. Daunted by the press of bodies, Versenne finally turned away, disappointed.

"Oh? How is it strange?"

"It's the company he keeps, you know? _Jedi._" Dustil did his best to inject the last word with all the disapproval he could muster. _And you don't know the half of it._

"I see," she said, who looked like she didn't, really.

Dustil decided a change of subject was in order. "So what was bothering you earlier?" He gently but firmly led her in a direction away from his father.

"Oh, but I am not sure you would understand." Versenne tugged him into a sheltered nook, one with a small bench, screened by several potted plants. Dustil could hear the familiar hum of a white noise generator. _Perfect._

Versenne set aside her glass and folded her hands in her lap. "A House does not merely count its wealth in credits, but in connections, also. Allies, subordinate Houses, business contacts, information exchanges, do you see?"

"Sure," he said, not sure at all where she was going, but willing to follow after.

"The Houses subordinate to mine, and those allies... only a few of them have presented themselves to me." Versenne said this in such tones of disquiet that Dustil was unnerved. So might the captain of a ship say, "The engines are dead, and we have incoming fighters."

"I- that sounds bad," Dustil ventured.

"It could be _disastrous_." Versenne lifted a hand to her hair, thought better of it, and settled for clenching her fan. "They haven't even talked to me!"

"Er, but they have... haven't they?" Dustil said, bewildered.

She waved a hand. "No, those aren't the ones I'm talking about. There, do you see?"

Dustil turned and looked, trying to focus on the colorful knots of people. There did seem to be a larger group, some of them carefully not looking in their direction.

"I don't understand... There was no hint of this during the Bazaar..." Versenne looked close to tears, and Dustil still wasn't sure why.

"Look, maybe it's, uh, it's still early, and they haven't gotten around to it yet," Dustil said. _Force damn it, we were doing good up to now._ "Hey, um... Why don't we dance?"

"What?" She looked at him as if he'd gone insane.

"You know, dance." Dustil stood and held out his hand. All those hours he'd spent yesterday practicing was about to pay off; his father hadn't been able to stay in the same room the first few times because he hadn't been able to keep a straight face. _At least he didn't laugh in my face._

"I... oh." Versenne fingered her fan, looking at it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, then seemed to come to a decision. She took a breath, and her fingers wrapped around his. "Very well. Let us dance, Stiller."

Dustil's heart, which had started to sink when she hesitated, bounced back up. He smiled and pulled her to her feet.

Half his mind was dedicated to the complex steps of the Sluis Van waltz, but the other half was completely spellbound by the movement, by the music, her hand in his, the smooth fabric of her dress, the way the light seemed to make her face glow. And she was smiling at him. Dustil wished the moment could last forever, that she would always look this beautiful and happy and full of joy as they whirled across the dance floor.

But all too soon, the music ended, and the magical moment faded with the strains of the instruments.

"I... have not danced in a long time," Versenne said, breathless. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled as she smiled up at him.

"Well, why don't we--" Dustil began, but a polite tap on his shoulder interrupted him. He turned around, about to give the tapper a few choice words. And maybe a bolt or five of Force lightning. "What?"

The interruption was a young man just a few years older than Dustil. He was dressed in rich robes, his long black hair bound in a single tail in the Sluis Van fashion. "Excuse me," he said, bowing to Dustil, "but may I cut in?" He smiled at Versenne, who was blank faced.

"Lord Khyrohn," Versenne said, giving the man a stiff nod. She held out her hand, which Lord Khyrohn took, and kissed the back of it with what Dustil considered to be too much panache.

So _this_ was Lord Khyrohn. Dustil considered the man with eyes trained in the harsh world Korriban provided. _I can take him._ Handsome enough, he supposed, with his beautiful robes and cleanshaven look. And enough credits. It made him feel jealous and outclassed at the same time.

_But I bet he wouldn't last five minutes in Dreshdae. Tu'kata food, nothing but tu'kata food._ Credits didn't make the lord a better person than Dustil.

Reminding himself of this, Dustil drew himself up and looked down at the shorter lord. "Yeah? Well, you can go and -" He stopped because there was a tug on his hand, and he looked down to see Versenne's upturned face.

"It's all right, Stiller," she murmured.

He supposed it would probably not be a good idea to make a scene. Dustil forced his face into a fake-feeling, stiff semblance of a smile, bowed, and said, "Sure," when what he really wanted to say to Khyrohn was, "Go frack yourself."

Dustil set his teeth and walked off the dance floor. Ideas ran through his mind, of tripping up the oh-so-handsome lord, of making him spill something on himself, or most favorite of all, choking him with the Force. Let's see how suave Khyrohn could be if he couldn't breathe. Dustil glowered at the man from the refuge of one of the private nooks, screened by a shimmering privacy curtain, white noise, and large leafy plants.

"Standard protocol at one of these things is not to glare. I'm sure it was in the manual," said a voice behind him. Dustil turned around to see his father giving him a wry smile; Father had obviously already staked his claim on this private space. "There's this way of smiling so's your face won't crack after an hour," his father continued.

Dustil looked around for Revan, but didn't see her. "You lost your date, too, Father?" he asked, feeling only slightly disgruntled about things like 'date' and 'father' in the same sentence, when he was wondering if that son-of-a-schutta was making a move on _his_ date.

"Over there," Father said, jerking his shaved chin at a group of women. Dustil could hear giggling and laughter. "I wonder what she's talking about that's so funny. Then again, I probably don't wanna know."

Dustil noticed some of the women glancing over their shoulders at them, and hiding their faces with their fans. The giggling rose to a crescendo. Father looked as confused as he felt. Now he knew why Father had made a strategic retreat.

"Carth! You clean up good! Which is a good thing, because the guards would've tossed you out on your ass by now if you didn't." Dustil turned to see Dar Ges bearing down on his father. "Du-Stiller, you're looking good, too." He shook hands with them.

Father shot Ges a suspicious look. "I haven't seen you for hours. What've you been up to?"

Ignoring this, Ges looked over at the gaggle of women and beamed. "I see people have heard about her already. Pretty damn quick, but I guess I shouldn't have underestimated the power of rumor."

Father's brows drew down. "Who the hell are you talking about?"

Revan broke away from the crowd at that moment, but not before the men heard a passing woman ask her, "Is he really that... large?"

Snapping her fan open as expertly as any other Sluis Van lady, Revan nodded. "Oh, yes," she said, "it's true. And very... expert. Of course, I did my humble best to teach him some small things."

The woman snapped her own fan open, and gave Father a long, considering look over the edge of it. The women dispersed with one last group titter. Dustil wished he hadn't heard that woman; he didn't need anymore bad mental images at his age.

"I think you'd better tell me what's going on, Dar," his father said through gritted teeth.

Dar shot him a look full of innocence. "Exactly what you told me to do. Spread the word." Father's frown turned into a glare. Ges grinned. "Look, going around with a very exclusive Alderaanian courtesan is going to do wonders for your reputation, Carth."

"_What?_" Father hissed. "I-I'm going around--a _courtesan_? I, I, I thought she was supposed to be a-a lady! An aristo, for the Force's sake, not--"

"Oh, she's that, too," Ges agreed. "They're decadent sents on Alderaan, you know. Very, uh, cosmopolitan. I thought you knew. She's got the belt and everything."

"I'm going to kill you, Dar," Father said through a bared-teeth smile.

Ges smirked. "Nah, you wouldn't kill your best bud, Carth."

"I'm going to kill you very, very slowly," Father repeated.

"Kill who?" Revan asked, insinuating herself into their huddle.

Dustil's eyebrows rose up; if he hadn't sensed her presence, he wouldn't have known the very well-endowed, red-haired woman with the cream-white complexion was Revan. That elaborate coiffure on her head had to be a wig, or something; he was _not_ going to speculate on her chest, not for all the prestige on Korriban.

Father divided his glare between her and Ges. "You didn't tell me your disguise was going to be a, a, high-class joygirl." He glanced at her belt, a golden rope tied into an intricate knot.

"The fact was only staring you in the face all this time," Revan purred with an innocent smile, twirling an end of the rope with one hand.

"I can see you've got things to talk about, so I'll, ah, leave you to it," Ges murmured.

Dustil supposed an experienced soldier like Ges would know when to beat a strategic retreat. He tuned out his father and Revan's conversation, too intent on seeing what that bastard was doing with Versenne. Without thinking, he had stepped out of the crowded privacy niche, too intent on following Versenne's progress.

They were standing at the buffet tables, talking over their food. Something Khyrohn said made Versenne laugh.

Dustil was seized by the impulse to reach out with the Force and make the man choke on his words. It was terrible, how easy it was to envision the young lord choking on a bit of food. No fuss, no muss.

No trail of blood. An unfortunate accident, how sad. All it would take was a little nudge, just enough to make a bit of particle go down the wrong pipe and get stuck there. The food wasn't even necessary; a little constriction of a small but significant cluster of nerves here, a little pinch there, and the human nervous system would take care of the rest. Just one of the many techniques Mas-Yuthura Ban had taught him, because sometimes subtlety served better than force.

Except, the muffled voice of reason said, it wouldn't be a clean and neat murder, would it? Yeah, murder. Revan was right there, not half a meter from him, and he knew he couldn't be subtle enough for her not to detect the disturbance in the Force. With enough... practice, he might. Unless she was sufficiently distracted. Ways and means flashed through his mind.

A picture of Versenne's horrified expression came to him, and he knew he wouldn't be able to do it. At least, not in front of her. Because she'd been through enough, and even though she'd recovered and bore up so well from her experiences, everyone had their breaking point. Even Mandalorians had their breaking points. Dustil tried to forget that finding them had been an important lesson, overseen personally by Mas-Yuthura Ban.

Breaking points, weaknesses, vulnerable spots in armor... For a second, he wondered what Versenne's was.

Versenne looked up and caught his eye; Dustil couldn't put his finger on what, exactly, was the unseen signal she sent him, but he dodged through the crowds and grinned. Khyrohn gave him a dry, ironic smile, a shallow bow, and took his leave with a parting, "Good evening to you both."

She tucked her hand in his elbow and put down her plate. "Come, Stiller, let's go outside. I feel the need for a bit of fresh air."

Dustil sure wasn't going to argue with this. "Sure, let's go."

He let Versenne lead him through the crowds, since she seemed to know where she was going, and he was quite lost. The last time he'd experienced architecture on this scale was back on Korriban.

Their progress was brought up short when Versenne halted; Dustil nearly ran into her.

"Something wrong?" he asked, alert for danger. But the only ones nearby were serving droids.

"It's Hersig, Da's chief aide," she murmured, nodding her head towards a man in Vosaryk livery. "Da must've sent him to--"

"Check up on you?" Dustil finished for her, looking at the man. He looked as unmemorable as ever; pretty much the only thing that would allow Dustil to pick him out of a crowd was the dapper uniform he wore.

Versenne looked uncertain and a trifle guilty. "Perhaps we should go another way."

Dustil spotted a couple walking near the man, and a serving droid moving forward to fill their glasses. He grinned and pulled Versenne along. _This_ was something he could do, and with no qualms about it. An easy flick of the Force sent the drink spilling to the expensive, carpeted floor, and onto the aide's lower legs.

"Come on, let's go!" Dustil pulled Versenne to the doors, feeling like a schoolboy playing hooky.

She started laughing, and so did he, once they'd gone out of sight of the party. He glanced back to see if there was any pursuit, but saw Ges catch the man by the arm. Before the doors closed, Dustil caught the words, "threat", "taken care of", and "don't worry", making him wonder what they were talking about, but the feeling of Versenne pressing against him made him forget everything but the moment.

They were through the doors and outside of the dome, where he saw that they were on a balcony looking down on concentric rings of terraces that fell away before them, with the dome of the Conclave at the top and center. The perfume of night-blooming flowers wafted up to him, and above, the silver specks of orbital stations danced among the stars.

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" Versenne said, her voice so quiet that Dustil had to lean down to hear her. "I've seen it so many times, but it's... different, when I have someone to share it with."

Her fingers touched the back of his hand, and he almost stopped breathing.

Dustil took that as an encouragement, and wrapped his fingers around hers. "I'm, uh... I'm glad you asked me to come."

If he turned his body like this, raised his arm like this... his hand would touch the hair curled against her cheek, shining silver in the moonlight. It was silky and soft, the way he remembered it from their fall. He remembered her perfume, too; light, delicate, probably expensive as hell. It wreathed around him right now, mingling with the flowers. And now that he wasn't in a life-or-death crisis, he could appreciate it all.

"I am as well," she said, tilting her face up.

Dustil leaned down, and she didn't back away. It seemed as inevitable as the sunrise for their lips to meet.

It wasn't an accident this time.

* * *

With thanks to Prisoner 24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback.

With thanks to everyone for your patience with me when it comes to updates. I've quit the RP, so hopefully I'll be able to update more often than once every few months. Thank you to everyone who took the time out to review; please know that I appreciate each and every one. You have no idea how supporting and motivating it is to see one in my inbox.


	63. Catalyst

**Chapter 63: Catalyst**

Carth stretched and scratched his face where the makeup on his newly applied disguise still itched. It still wasn't as bad as the high collar on his dress uniform, and he was glad to be out of it. He looked out through the forcefield in Dar's workshop, which had an unparalleled view of the capital city habitat, looking innocent of any treasonous plots, conspiracies and political infighting. There was an unhappy tenseness in the air, the kind he usually associated with the mornings just before a battle.

He looked down at the streets below, tiny ribbons from this height, and saw the dots of early morning pedestrians moving like dots on a tactical screen. And he wondered if any of them felt that tang in the air, if any of them knew what was going down, while anonymous sentients plotted treason and planned their power struggles and decided the life and death of those people down below. They were just ordinary people, leading ordinary lives, with their ordinary loves and their ordinary jobs. And their ordinary families.

_I had an ordinary family._ They were just like Morgana and Dustil, just people. They hadn't asked for war to come and shatter their lives.

"_Ol'val_, Carth," Carth heard Dar say behind him, breaking into his thoughts.

"Good morning, Dar," Carth said with a wry smile. "You're up early - I remember when your whole squadron had to take it in turns to make sure you got up on time, because you could sleep right through a whole battle if they let you."

Dar laughed. "Yeah, well, these days I've got a new chrono alarm - s' called the wife." He plopped down onto an overstuffed chair and put his feet on the table, something Carth bet he wouldn't have dared to do in his own apartment. "So how'd things go last night? Good? Was it any help?"

"It went all right... if you ignore the fact that I nearly started a war because some rich bastards were trying to proposition Nami," Carth said, glowering at Dar. "Some of them had brought their wives!" It hadn't been an option to punch the lecherous bastards in the face, but he'd wished it was. It hadn't helped that Revan's delicate refusals would just encourage them.

_Ha, if they'd known who she really is, they would've all needed another set of clean underwear..._

To Carth's disgust, Dar just snickered. "Look at it this way, Carth... I bet they're mighty impressed by the set of quadanium choobies you have. Besides, I bet she had to put up with women propositioning _you_."

"They didn't - I wasn't -" Carth sputtered. "I wasn't _trying_ to get their attention, dammit!" Not even hiding in various privacy niches had deterred them.

"Lady Jigen was all over you like flies on a dead bantha." Dar elbowed him in the ribs and leered. "She wasn't just eyeballing you, she was cleavaging you. It's a surprise to me that you didn't fall into that particular, ah, gravity well, but at least you'd be guaranteed a nice, soft landing."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a Gamorrean pig-man, Dar?" Carth grimaced at the memory of the most persistent of his... admirers. "I thought her husband was going to come after me with a blaster rifle."

"Nah, he's too classy for that - he'd send _minions_ with blaster rifles after you."

"Thank you for that thought." Carth would've thought it incredibly flattering when he was younger, but then, he'd been pretty stupid when he was younger. It wouldn't have been so bad if they hadn't all been married. Or underage.

"What about Lady Myva? Wasn't she cute?" Dar grinned.

Carth snorted. "Dar, she was thirteen, for the Force's sake." The hero worship in her eyes had been almost as embarrassing as Jigen's spirited attempts to get into his pants.

"A very mature thirteen, I thought. Anyway, Nami didn't take them up on their offers, did she? I bet she got some good ones, too."

"Well, no... I just hope word of this doesn't get back to Coruscant." Carth winced, thinking of what Admiral Dodonna would say. "Thanks to you, my reputation is gonna be ruined."

"Honestly, Carth, you play the dumb soldier too well sometimes," Dar scoffed. "You could drop your trousers and moon the whole damn Senate in full session, and you'd _still_ be the golden boy Republic war hero."

"I'd rather not put that to the test, Dar." Carth looked up when footsteps sounded on the ship's ramp. "Good morning, son."

Dustil yawned a "G' morning" back, handing Carth a datapad while sucking on a mug of hot caffa. "She told me to give this to you. Morning, Mr. Ges."

"_Ol'val._ Dar, kid. Call me Dar," Carth heard his friend say as he looked at the pad. They were a set of coordinates for an address in Transients Dome.

"I'm getting breakfast, Father," Dustil said, stifling another yawn. "See you later, Mister - Dar."

"Your boy looks happy about something," Dar commented as he watched Dustil go up the ramp. "Think he got lucky last night?"

"Dunno. Maybe." Carth felt a bit of ambivalent paternal pride about that, although he suspected Dustil was no virgin. "He got back pretty late." He frowned. "The girl's not in the habit of slumming it, is she?"

Dar raised an eyebrow. "Your meaning? You _are_ referring to Lady Versenne, I take it?"

"I _mean_, is she the type who, I dunno, picks guys up and throws 'em back down when she's done with them? You know what I mean." Carth was all too familiar with that sort of woman, especially those of the Coruscanti elite.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," Dar said, waving his hand. "She's about as straight as they come. I know you're used to those bloodsuckers on Coruscant, but they're different here. Some are like that, but most are decent types. Just make sure you're never caught in the middle of a hostile takeover."

"That's a relief. I think." There were other ways she could hurt Dustil, and none of it was fixable with a medpac.

"You can't protect him from everything, Carth. Some things he's gotta learn for himself," Dar said, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "I'll tell you true, I'm not looking forward to this headache in another ten years. Times two, no less."

"Yeah, but at least you're here for them, most of the time." As he hadn't been for Dustil. _But I'm here for him now._ He hoped it would be enough, but sometimes it felt like it never would be.

"That's right, I get to spoil them now after the whole diaper-changing crisis and before the rebellious teenage years."

"Father," Carth heard Dustil call down the ramp, "we're outta caf."

"No, we're not," Carth said, putting the pad down and rising. "Did you check the bottom drawer? Uh, be right back, Dar."

Minor breakfast crisis averted, Carth headed back down the ramp to see Dar leaving. "Hey, leaving so soon?" The face Dar turned to him was gray. "Dar? What's wrong?"

"Uh, nothing, nothing." Dar backed away, his smile looking more sickly than reassuring.

"It's your stomach, isn't it? You did get skewered yesterday - look, the ship's got a sickbay..."

"No, I'm okay. Musta been something I ate." Dar shook his head. "Listen, Carth," he said, twisting to face him with an abrupt turn on his heels. He licked his lips and continued, "Maybe you should get off Sluis Van, while... while you still can."

Carth's eyebrows rose at this sudden change of heart. Dar had been a staunch supporter just yesterday. "There's a part of me that wants to do that, but I've got my duty here."

Dar snorted exasperation. "You're retired now, you don't have any duties or responsibilities anymore. That's why it's called _retirement_."

"Yeah, well, I gotta do it, all the same."

Duty, and responsibility, weren't as easy to put down as his medals. _I've been a soldier too long._ Carth was reluctant to mention Revan's Jedi status, and deal with all the questions that would lead from that revelation. But he knew he could never turn his back on something like this, even if Revan weren't involved.

He thought about those ordinary people, and about Morgana and Dustil, and knew he could not let what had happened to them happen to those sentients here.

"You having second thoughts, Dar? It's not too late to back out."

"Oh, I think it's too late for that. Much too late," Dar breathed in a strange tone of voice. He shook himself. "If you won't think of yourself, man, think of Dustil. Are you sure you want _him_ involved?"

Carth's own snort was one of mingled exasperation, frustration, and pride. "Don't you think I've tried? Don't you think I've told him what could happen, how dangerous this could get? He won't go. And he's too old for me to spank and send to his room."

"Sounds just as stubborn as this man I know." Dar regarded him with dismay, the planes of his face set hard like a mask, locking away whatever expression Carth could interpret. "I gotta get to the training center, anyway. Catch you later, okay?"

"Well, if you're sure..." Carth watched his friend hurry out, wondering at Dar's sudden change of mood.

"Father?" he heard Dustil call.

"Huh? Yeah... coming," Carth said as he returned to the ship, still puzzling over Dar's behavior.

Dustil handed him a new cup of caf before sitting down on one of the worn chairs, and Carth sat next to him, smiling at his tousle-haired son. He hadn't been able to get to sleep until he knew Dustil had gotten back to the ship safe and sound, but the look of blitzed happiness on Dustil's face had told him everything he'd needed to know. Dustil smiled back at him, that simple exchange making Carth feel connected to his son in a way he hadn't experienced since Dustil was a boy. It gave him hope that they could talk without both of them losing their tempers after five minutes.

"We're going to wherever that is, right?" Dustil asked, pointing at the datapad.

Carth nodded. "Yeah. Since we got nothing of worth from those interrogations, this address is now the only lead we've got. We've got nothing but speculation and guesswork to go on, and stuff like that's not going to impress Republic Intelligence."

"When do we go?"

"'We'?" Carth repeated, frowning at Dustil. When he and Revan had planned this little side-trip scouting mission, somehow he'd never envisioned Dustil involved in it. "You wanna go?"

Dustil nodded. "I'm not staying behind while you're out having fun."

"I wouldn't call it 'having fun', son," Carth said, and grinned. "Wouldn't you rather comm your girlfriend and see if she'd like to do anything?"

His son turned red and shot him an embarrassed glower. "She's not my girlfriend," Dustil mumbled. "She's busy. She said, uh, the Conclave of Houses meets today, and her dad's gonna put the question to 'em."

"Oh, damn." Carth had completely forgotten about Vosaryk's _kersai_; he supposed the girl would be in no mood for anything but business today. _Poor kid._

"Tough on her," Carth remarked, and Dustil gave him a sober nod.

"She wasn't happy about it last night," Dustil admitted.

_Did she find something else to be happy about?_

"We noticed the, ah, the shunning," Revan said, walking down the ramp. "It doesn't bode well for House Vosaryk in the Conclave session."

"That can only be a good thing. I wonder if someone leaked the news of what he's planning to do," Carth said. "Maybe the other Houses know and they're standing way back, out of the line of fire."

"Makes sense." Revan nodded. "They'll have no wish to embroil not only their Houses, but their families, in a vendetta that could wipe them out, oaths of loyalty or no."

"So it's you first, anybody but me?" Dustil said.

"Loyalty's one thing, but if they put the family in danger for something that's obviously personal, I think I wouldn't be the first in line," Carth said.

Dustil shot him a strange look Carth couldn't interpret, until he realized how his words could be taken. Dammit, would it always come around to that? Did Dustil truly believe he would've left him and his mother behind on Telos if there'd been the slightest clue they'd be in danger? Telos was supposed to be safe.

_Except it hadn't. You talk a lot about family being important, but Dustil's never really seen it. Or he doesn't remember. Why should he? You were gone all those years._

His son was reckoned a man now, but Carth realized Dustil didn't understand what his duty had been, anymore than he had when he was twelve.

Carth wondered if Dustil ever would. Revan's voice broke the awkward moment.

"The alliances are splintering," Revan said, her eyes flickering between him and Dustil. She traced her fingers on the table as if following lines on a map. "I have to wonder if that's not exactly what someone wants."

"If they're fighting themselves, they're not gonna be paying attention to anything else," Dustil said. "Like those mercs Father told us about."

"Yeah, and we still don't know what Sayir's planning to do with them," Carth agreed. He picked up the pad he'd left on the table. "Maybe we'll find some answers here."

"I just hope the answers aren't unpleasant, but I guess I'm ready, Father."

Carth glanced at Dustil, and sighd when he saw the stubborn set to his son's chin. "Then let's go."

"Is this it?" Carth said, bringing the shuttle in a long, wide arc around the nondescript building in the Transients Dome. "You sure we've got the right place?"

The tower looked like any other edifice in the area; tall, blocky and bland in shape, decorated with flashing holoads near the bottom and top. There was a long, antenna-like spike on top of it, but other than that, nothing distinguished it from its neighbors.

"No, I'm not sure, but the computer listed this as the likeliest spot. Were you expecting signs saying 'Sith conspirators here, please wipe your boots on the mat'?" Revan retorted.

"It'd help," Carth grunted, landing the shuttle on the nearest roof.

"How're we going to get in?" Dustil said as he followed Carth out. He eyed the equipment and weapons festooned on his father. "Somehow I don't think Father looks like a convincing door-to-door salesman."

"Cute. Please don't tell me we're going through the sewers again - I just got my boots cleaned," Carth muttered. He squinted across at the tower. "Hey, look... are those vents?" He pointed at the stubby cylinders on the sides of the building, near the top.

Revan raised a pair of macrobinocs and peered through them. "Looks like it. But I don't think they'll let us fly our speeder right next to them." She grinned. "Time for more lessons in climbing, gentlemen."

Carth groaned. "Oh no. I think I'd rather take on the sewers, even with rakghouls."

"I could always toss you across with the Force," Revan suggested. "Big baby."

"How're we supposed to get up there? Fly?" Dustil asked.

"Close." Revan tugged on a strap of her climbing harness.

"You gotta be kidding me. Father, please tell me she's joking." Dustil jerked a thumb at the building. "That thing's gotta be twenty kilometers high!"

"And who said we were going to climb to the top from the bottom?" Revan pointed at the speeder they'd stashed in the shuttle. "We can get to the vents in the speeder, then swing across with my harness. If, of course, your father can get us there."

Scowling at their destination, Carth racked his brains for any idea that wouldn't involve falling to their deaths. The sewers came to mind, but he didn't think they could use that route anymore, not after Sayir's break-in. That left infiltration through the usual way, with an option of the front door or the back door. Neither of which appealed, or stood any chance of success.

Carth opened his mouth, and shut it. He thought about how much he didn't want to stare down at the miniscule streets from a kilometers-high building. Memories of his escape from Sayir on the scrap metal freighter flashed through his mind with the clarity of a terror-driven adrenaline high. Hanging by your fingertips over a deep fall will do that.

He folded his arms and said, "No."

Revan stared at him, astonished. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I _mean_ no, dammit. I'm not going to end up dangling by my fingers a really long way up _again_. There's a better way to do this. Gotta be." Carth matched her glare with one of his own.

"If you're so smart then, Onasi, what's _your_ bright idea?" Revan retorted.

There she had him. Carth blew out his breath as he looked out the screen at the tower. Traffic whirled like flocks of birds, blocking his view of it. Flying to and fro... _delivering_. Carth sat up straight.

"I've got it." Carth pointed at the tower. "Whether they're Sith or not, they're still sentients, and what sentients gotta do is _eat_. They must need food and, and weapons, and, I dunno, clothes. Clean underwear. Didn't that report say they've been getting equipment for something? Well, stuff like that doesn't walk in on their own. They must get delivered."

"Are you saying we should try that door-to-door salesman idea? I was just joking, Father," Dustil said. "Even if you're right, they'll know we're not the people who make the usual deliveries."

"We don't know what schedule they make deliveries on," Revan pointed out. "Assuming they do get them."

"They've got to." Carth pointed at the traffic. "_Not_ taking deliveries would attract attention, especially with the way they use all the real estate here."

"They could be living on rations."

Carth snorted. "If Sith rations are anything like Republic ones, they would've mutinied years ago, if you're right and they've been here for a while."

"How're we going to find out when they take deliveries? We probably can't slice into their security without attracting attention," Dustil said.

"Not _their_ security, but what about them?" Carth pointed now at the buildings surrounding the tower. "There's gotta be someone there who's got vids showing the delivery entrance." He raised an eyebrow at Revan. "Assuming, of course, you can do it."

Revan gave him a look and slid her visor over her eyes with the air of someone taking the safety off a blaster. "Watch it, flyboy."

It took about an hour, but Revan managed to capture the feeds off the vids in the other buildings and run through the logs, most of them not erased yet, so that they could discern the patterns. It took another hour for them to make the preparations to set their plan in motion.

Carth settled down, checking his weapons and making sure they wouldn't catch on anything as they waited for the freighter to arrive. This one would be making its deliveries in a few minutes, and they were waiting on one of the roofs for it to pass, with various degrees of patience.

"It would've been faster my way," Revan grumbled beside him.

"Yeah, but the bit where my life would flash before my eyes would've taken a long time." Carth shuddered, because his imagination was painting a very vivid picture of what exactly could go wrong: the snap of the harness lines, the ripping noise of severed cords, the desperate grabs, the screams fading with distance as they plunged over the side...

_No, better this way._

"Here it comes," Carth hissed, spotting the freighter coming in, its shadow blocking out the sun as it passed overhead.

Revan started up the swoop's engines and lifted off, leaving Carth and Dustil on the roof. She would be dropping down onto the freighter from above, while he and Dustil would cling to its underside, assuming they could reach it.

Carth flew their speeder right under the freighter; the roar of its engines deafened him at this close range when Dustil opened the canopy, and he had to narrow his eyes against the backblast. The belly of the ship was full of handholds; the trick was hanging on to them long enough for the freighter to reach its destination and firm ground.

Okay, so they still ended up dangling in mid-air, but at least it wasn't so high up. Relatively.

Carth struggled to keep the speeder steady in the wake and drag of the freighter's turbines, and close enough for Dustil to reach it. Dustil managed to grasp a strut with a hand and wound a bit of cord from Revan's harness around it. Carth couldn't watch, being too busy controlling the speeder, but it seemed to him that his son got himself fastened to the ship in less time than it should have. Using the Force to help him?

However Dustil had done it, it meant it was Carth's turn to get out of the speeder. And with little time to spare, because they were approaching the tower. He slapped the controls to automatic, took the helping hand Dustil extended to him, and swung himself up, hooking his feet in under a handy edge. His shoulders and ankles started protesting immediately, until he was able to shuffle himself onto the tenuous cradle of lines Dustil had stretched across. Carth handed over the diffuser pad to Dustil, and together they managed to blanket themselves with it. It was an old smuggler's trick, used to shunt the energy of any scanners away, found rolled up like a carpet in a forgotten corner of the _Ebon Hawk's_ hold. Revan had turned her nose up at it for an amateur's tool, likely why it'd been rolled up, but it was turning out to be useful now.

The thin fabric of the gizka poodoo-smelling pad did nothing to hide the fact that they were lying on a few thin cords under the belly of a freighter passing over the rooftops. Carth could feel the complete emptiness beneath him.

_This wasn't one of my better ideas._

"This wasn't one of your better ideas, Father!" Dustil yelled at him over the roar of the engines.

"Shut up!" It could be worse, Carth reasoned. He could be facing _down_ instead of up at the underside of the ship. This didn't make him feel that much better.

When the feel of the air and the darkening light warned him that the freighter had finally entered the confines of a docking bay, Carth tensed. Dustil didn't need to be told to pull the diffuser pad more firmly around themselves when they heard footsteps approaching.

Carth waited until he heard the murmurs of the sentries to squeeze his son's arm and unwrap the pad. He untangled himself from the painful hammock and dropped down as quietly as he could onto the very welcome and, above all, blessedly solid floor.

The place looked like every other docking bay he'd ever been in, brightly lit towards the front where the landing lights were, cool and dim towards the back, where he saw stacks of cargo containers. He pointed Dustil at them while he rolled the diffuser pad back up, and stuffed it into a corner as they scurried behind cover. The men on duty at the terminal weren't facing them, too busy dealing with the cargo being unloaded.

A flicker in the corner of his eye had Carth spinning around, blaster in hand, but it was only Revan coming out of her stealth field. She beckoned to them from behind another pile of containers, and pointed to the vent halfway up the wall. Carth nodded; he'd known small enclosed spaces would figure in somewhere.

He and Dustil scurried around and behind containers until they reached Revan, although they probably didn't need to bother; the guard was chatting with what Carth assumed was the pilot, as bored guards did on long, boring sentry duty. The other was distracted by the supplies. He clambered up over the containers and squeezed himself into the vent, shuffling forward so that Dustil could follow behind him.

They crawled further inside until Carth thought it safe enough to speak. "Uh, you know where we're supposed to go?" he asked, fishing the low-light visor out of his pack. "Didn't you get blueprints or something?"

"I did, but I don't know if we can trust them."

"Great, so we're running blind." Carth hunkered down and peered around the corner. The visor showed him nothing but metal curves and large recessed fans. "I just _love_ charging into a dangerous situation that we know nothing about."

"I'll have to scout ahead," Revan said, crouching down next to him.

He didn't like that idea, but he didn't see any other alternative. "Be careful."

Revan's shape turned into a shimmer; Carth tracked it until she turned around the bend, leaving him alone with Dustil.

Carth decided to take the opportunity to ask the question he'd been wanting to broach all night. "So, uh... your date go well?"

He didn't need the visor to see Dustil's slow smile. "Yeah."

"You got back pretty late," Carth remarked, as-if casual, wondering if he should ask point blank.

"Yeah." Dustil didn't elaborate further, and Carth wasn't sure if he should - or wanted to - ask for more details.

_None of my business, really._ Although he should probably make sure of something.

"Uh... your, uh, your implant's up to date, right?" Carth mumbled, and cleared his throat. "You know the one I'm talking about, right?"

There was an embarrassed, awkward silence that went on for a little too long.

"Yeah," Dustil said for the third time in a row.

They sat a little longer, neither of them saying anything, until Carth couldn't stand it anymore. "You know, son... if you, uh, you know, have any questions, or, uh, anything, feel free to come to me."

_And if you say 'yeah' one more time, I'm going to smack you._

"Uh... thanks."

It was with some relief when Carth heard Revan's footsteps coming around the corner. "Took you long enough."

"Yes, well, I had to dodge some patrols." Revan crouched down next to them. "But I think I found a way to evade them."

"Does it involve sewers?" Carth hoped it wouldn't.

"Fortunately for your nice clean boots, no."

"What's it like inside?" Dustil asked.

Revan shrugged. "It would look like any other office complex, if it weren't for the droids."

"Sayir's?" Carth said. "Or Sith?"

"I didn't stop to check for distinguishing marks. They look like any other standard war droid to me." Revan took out a datapad. "Here, I marked the patrol path on this map. We'll have to take out one group, and hope they don't have to report back in every five minutes."

"Do you even know where we have to go?" Dustil asked, sounding as dubious as Carth felt. "And what we're supposed to do once we get there?"

"We have to find out where the credits and equipment are going, from where, why, and for what purpose. Beyond that, I have no more idea than you do as to what to expect."

"The worst, usually," Carth said, getting to his feet. "Let's get this over with."

Revan led them through increasingly narrow vents, until they were squirming along on their hands and knees, and then their stomachs - not that Carth could complain about the view - before they reached a grate that looked like dozens of others they'd passed. Carth rubbed his nose to stave off an inpending sneeze.

"Patrol here," Revan whispered over her shoulder. The low noise of the ventilation covered the sound. "I'll go out first."

Carth slipped a blaster out of a holster as he watched Revan eel out of the opening, her body disappearing into a transparent blur before her feet touched the floor; he reached out and pulled the grating closed. Now that he wasn't moving and making noise, he could hear footsteps and heavy mechanical thuds. A war droid and a Twi'lek in armor were making their way towards them. There could be no clever subterfuge here with stolen uniforms. He tensed, waiting for Revan to make her move.

But before she could do that, he sneezed, the sound of it reverberating down the vent, bouncing off the metal walls.

"Frack, not again, Father!" Dustil hissed from behind him.

The Twi'lek below whipped his rifle around, his eyes flickering all around before alighting on the vent. Cursing, Carth punched the grating open even as the droid's guns swiveled towards him. Before Carth could pull the trigger, the hall lit up with actinic flashes as Revan appeared and threw lighting at the droid. Carth dropped the Twi'lek as he was turning around to confront the new threat.

Grunting, Carth pulled himself out of the vent, wincing as his equipment caught on the edges and dug into his back. "Sorry," he said, moving to help Dustil down.

"Nothing to worry about." Revan pointed at the smoking droid. "We'll have to hide that. And that."

Carth looked around the bare hallway. The floor was covered with an old, threadbare carpet, frayed to thinness in the middle, and the walls and ceiling were bare permacrete, lit by naked glowrods. Not a very cheerful place.

"Cameras?" Dustil asked, brushing himself off.

"I've only found some at intersections, easily bypassed," Revan replied while she helped Carth tie the Twi'lek up. "They're probably relying on anonymity more than anything else."

"It's a good disguise," Carth said, pushing the Twi'lek up and into the vent with Dustil's help.

"This isn't gonna fit." Dustil pointed at the recumbent droid.

"We can have it patrol as it was originally programmed," she said, opening the access panel on the droid's back. "That way, the other guards might assume the Twi'lek went off on a 'fresher break."

"If they're any good at all, they're not gonna buy it for more than five seconds." Carth stepped back when the droid lurched up and stomped on its way.

"Then we'd better move on."

A feeling was growing in the back of Carth's head, gnawing at him. They'd gotten in too easily. Things were going as planned, and he got suspicious - well, more so than usual - when things were going as planned. If this really was the stronghold and heart of the conspirators, Sith or not, wouldn't there be more and larger patrols? And more camera coverage? Even the Sith base on Taris had had more guards, and _that_ had been run by complacent garrison troops. Either they had the wrong address after all...

... Or this was a trap.

They emerged into a wider corridor, with a pair of plain double doors at the end. Their progress so far had been quiet, and the few patrols they'd seen hadn't detected them. It was making Carth feel more twitchy by the second.

"I feel something there," Dustil said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"So do I," Revan murmured. She moved ahead and checked the door panel. "Not locked."

The clamoring alarm in Carth's head shrilled. "I don't like this... We... we should go back."

"What? After we've come all this way?" Dustil said.

"Dustil's right - we've come all this way and this far. We should find something of worth before going back. Next time, it won't be so easy, especially now that that patrol saw us," Revan said, sounding so reasonable it set Carth's teeth on edge.

Carth sighed. They had a point, and, so far, his feeling was just a feeling. He unholstered his pistols. "All right, then. Let's do it."

Revan pressed the panel, and the doors opened. Inside, Carth saw rows upon rows of computer consoles and holo screens, all of it resembling a control room of some kind, and contained the first windows he'd yet seen in this place. But his attention was riveted to the balding human standing in the aisle, looking expectant.

"Oh, dear. This is so cliche of me, but... I've been expecting you," the clerk-like figure said. The man had a bit of a paunch, and was dressed in a worn tunic and trousers, but the hairs on Carth's nape prickled.

"Who the hell are _you_?" Carth snapped, his fingers tightening on the triggers. Beside him, Revan and Dustil were poised in tense readiness.

The man smiled. "Your end." And ignited a red lightsaber.

It would've been nice to be proven wrong for once, Carth thought.

* * *

With thanks to Prisoner 24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback. Sorry for the delay, folks, I got distracted by shiny things... 


	64. Perigee

**Chapter 64: Perigee**

Dustil was having a hard time reconciling what he was seeing with what he was _feeling_.

What he _saw_ was a short, pudgy man with a receding hairline, the strands carefully combed over the growing bald spot, dressed in a stained old tunic. He looked like a clerk, or someone who'd shortchange you in a store. Dustil wondered how many people had been left broken in the man's wake, deceived by that harmeless facade.

What he _felt_ was darkness that spread outward in growing ripples, cold and liquid and malignant. Familiar. He'd walked in and through this power, breathed it and lived it for four years. A taste of home, however slimy and sharp and terrifying it was. It had echoes of Uthar Wynn, and Yuthura Ban, and Jorak Uln before he'd been deposed. It resonated in a part of him he'd thought could be forgotten and buried.

He could reach out and summon the same raw-edged, blood-tinged Force for himself, wrap it around him, and move the world with it.

Or so it whispered and promised.

The... Dark Jedi's eyes narrowed as if he recognized the Force in Dustil, even if he didn't know who Dustil was.

"You may have turned your face from the dark, boy, but it always reaches out to those it's claimed for its own. There's a place for you here, if you choose correctly. After a suitable period of training, of course." The man paused. "Or should I say, _re_training."

Frack, was he always going to be perceived as a tool, and valued accordingly? Did he have 'Former Sith' tattooed on his forehead? Some invisible sign that said, 'recruit me, I was a stupid Sith'?

His father stepped forward and snarled, "Forget it, Sith! We're not here for you to recruit us!"

The man's lip curled. "I wasn't talking to _you_."

"Enough," Revan snapped. "We're not interested in any of your offers. Surrender now and cooperate with us, and your life will be spared."

An ironic chuckle was the Dark Jedi's only response to this. "You're very confident, if the bulk of your forces consist of one young _Jedi_ barely old enough to shave, a middle-aged man with all the Force Sensitivity of a permacrete brick, and you."

Revan grasped the handles of her shortswords and broke them off at the hilts. Blades of blue and orange light blazed in the dim-lit room. "Count 'em. _Two_ Jedi."

This display didn't seem to faze the man's confidence. "I was only told of one. No matter. The Force, it seems, presents me with a mild challenge. So be it." The man gave them a formal nod of challenge.

Then the room exploded into bright, sharp, flying death.

"Dustil!"

A huge weight tackled Dustil and slammed him into the floor, driving the breath out of him. Something made a whistling noise past his head and shattered with a tinkle of glass.

"Father, I can't breathe!" Dustil choked out, his right cheek mashed against the cold floor.

The weight was removed from his back. "Sorry."

Dustil lifted his head and turned; they'd rolled under a bank of computer consoles, and above, glass shards were flying in a whirlwind. He could hear the clash and hiss of lightsabers somewhere inside it, nearly all the way on the other side of the room.

"You all right, Dustil?" his father asked.

Dustil rolled over and sat up. "Yeah..." His eyes widened when he saw the blood streaming down his father's face. "You're bleeding! And..." And there was a large sliver of glass stuck in his father's armor, in the join between the gorget and the shoulder.

"Um, yeah..." Sweat beaded on Father's brow. "I can't reach it myself." He shuffled around, turning his back. "You'll have to help me."

Swallowing, Dustil reached out and grasped the shard with both hands, trying to avoid cutting himself on the jagged edges. Father grunted when he jerked it out, and blood welled out of the wound. Dustil fumbled for a medpac, wishing he'd learned how to heal. Assuming he could. It wasn't a skill they'd taught on Korriban; _causing_ things that needed healing, on the other hand...

"Your head..." Dustil said, "it's still bleeding." His fingers were clumsy and slick with kolto and blood.

"Head wounds always bleed a lot." Father hissed when Dustil poked a little too hard. "I'll be okay."

They poked their heads out to see how Revan was doing. Both Jedi were obscured by the storm of flying glass, but it looked like the fat man was holding his own. Flashes of red, orange and blue lit the room like lightning.

"There's gotta be something we can do," Father muttered. "I can't just stand by and watch!"

Dustil raised a hand and tried deflecting the flying daggers, and while he could, the opening he made was too small. It was like trying to make a hole in the wall of a hurricane.

_Then make a bigger one. But why should I?_ He glanced at his father's anxious face. _Because I'd never hear the end of it if I don't, and we'd be here forever._

Biting his lip, Dustil focused, wrapping bands of the Force around the console next to him. _There is no mass, there is no weight, there is only the Force..._ With a huge groan and squeal of twisting metal, the console flew up, trailing broken wires and cables, and was thrust into the vortex. Feeling triumphant, Dustil turned and noticed Father was staring at him like he'd grown two heads.

"What?" Dustil said, ducking to avoid more of those knives. The Dark Jedi should've been distracted by the incoming computer, but he just waved a hand, sending it aside. Dustil gritted his teeth.

"I, uh, I guess it's... weird to see you using the Force. I mean, beyond the little exercises I've seen you do." Father looked away. "It's... it's not something I ever thought you'd grow up to be."

_Yeah, I bet you didn't think I'd grow up to be a Sith, either. Want me to show you what else they taught me?_

Dustil bit his tongue. Now wasn't the time. "Better get used to it, Father."

"Yeah... I guess so." Father looked at the brief hole Dustil had made in the barrier, and fumbled with his equipment. "Nice work, but I've got an idea, too."

While the Dark Jedi had spotted the incoming console, he missed the grenades Father rolled towards him, their sinister spinning noise covered by the clash of lightsabers. There were two explosions, sending a wave of heat over Dustil, followed by the man's screams. The glass shards whirled out of control, flying all over the room and shattering or embedding themselves wherever they landed.

Father popped up, his blasters spitting bolts in a bright red stream towards the Dark Jedi; to Dustil's dismay, the man recovered quickly, deflecting many of the bolts away with his saber and slamming his father back with a wave of the Force. Dustil scrambled to catch his idiot father, his hands going up and out, shaping the Force into a cushion. Father still landed heavily, his boots going through the screen of a console after turning a clumsy somersault. The Dark Jedi's hand crackled with energy, but before he could throw lightning out, Revan had renewed her assault, and he had to turn to meet her attack. Before his father could do something as idiotic as moving into melee range, the glass shards flew up into a storm again, erratic but still dangerous.

"That was _stupid_, Father!" Dustil hissed, helping his father down and under cover. "He could've killed you!" A complete list of all the ways paraded through his mind, unbidden. Dustil squelched them.

"Or I could've killed him." Father holstered his pistols and drew his blades. "Fine. So I'll just have to get up close and personal." His dark, scarred jaw firmed into a grim line.

"Are you crazy? He'll chop you up into snail food!"

Father wheeled around. "I'm all out of ideas, dammit! I'm damned if I'm just going to stand by and do nothing! If that was _your_ girlfriend up there, would you just stand by and watch?"

"Okay, fine!" Dustil snarled back. His frazzled nerves and temper snapped, his head spinning with the Dark Side whispering so near. He flung out a hand and called lightning of his own, the power rushing through his veins in an exhilarating river. "Then let me show you what I can do!"

Computers and equipment exploded as white lightning jumped from his fingers and writhed across the delicate circuitry behind the Dark Jedi, leaping and coiling like snakes. There was a beauty and a glory to the destruction, seductive and mesmerizing, and it was so easy to lose himself in it. The Dark Side in his soul yearned to destroy and rend and shatter until there was nothing left of the world...

"That's enough!" Father shouted in his ear as he shook Dustil. Dustil snapped out of his fugue state, and the lightning crackled and faded from his hands.

For the second time, the glass storm faltered and died down. The Dark Jedi staggered under Revan's blows, his clothes smoking and torn from burning debris, and fell to his knees when Father slammed into him from behind, knocking the man's head against a smoking console. Father's vibroblades sank home while the man was dizzied and reeling.

Alarms began to blare, making Dustil jump. Father looked around, as though expecting more Sith to burst into the room.

"What have you done?" Revan demanded, crouching down, but the man's eyes were clouding over.

"Lord?" the Dark Jedi whispered, the defiance draining out of his face, replaced by a confused joy. His hand plucked at Revan's sleeve. "You... you have returned. I-I have done all that you have asked of me... I never lost faith, even when the others - they said, they said Malak killed you... I continued your great work, I knew you would return..."

Revan recoiled, but the man's grip on her only tightened. "Who... how do you know me?"

"I have always been... your humble servant. All that you asked of me, I did... Your enemies, they will be destroyed in their moment of triumph, you foresaw it. Sow chaos, bring death from above..." the man gasped. He stared in bewilderment down at the vibroblade holes in his torso, as if seeing them for the first time. "I... I c-can no longer serve you, Lord, but they cannot win - it's too late... it was too late hours ago."

"Too late for what?" Father spat. "It's too late for _you_, that's for sure."

The man didn't seem to hear Father, so focused was he on Revan. "They're coming, and there is nothing, nothing they can do about it. Not the Sluissi, not the Jedi, and not the Republic." The Dark Jedi's smile was bloody but triumphant, even as his eyes began to lose their focus. "They won't have eyes to see our great triumph, my Lord, they and the rest of the rabble in this dome."

The man's voice wound down and faded, and his hand went slack.

"Did you know him?" Father asked.

Dustil's lips twisted. Of course she had, even if she didn't remember it anymore.

"I... don't know. I must have... once." Revan's eyes searched the dead man's face, but if she found it familiar, she didn't say.

Father rummaged through the corpse's still-smoking clothes, coming up with several data chips and a holo cube. Revan dragged herself away and busied herself at one of the intact consoles.

"Those alarms... I don't like the sound of them," Father muttered. "We'd better make ourselves scarce."

"What did he mean, 'they're coming'?" Dustil asked, trying to control the treacherous shaking in his knees. Just post-combat nerves, he told himself.

"I don't know, but I definitely don't like the part about us not having the eyes to see."

Dustil leaned against a still-intact console and caught his breath, gripping the edge to still the tiny tremors in his hands. The singing call of the Dark Side, combined with the burst of lightning he threw out and the fading adrenaline high, were enough to weigh his exhausted body down like several tons of mud. The blinking holo still on the screen distracted him for a second. Then he took a closer look.

"Father? Come take a look at this," Dustil said, forgetting his pains.

Father looked up at the urgency in his voice, and limped over. "A map..." Father murmured, his brow furrowing.

"Looks familiar, doesn't it?" Dustil said.

The flickering holo was showing a bowl-shaped space, with tunnels or hallways marked in glowing green. A thought was rising through the haze of fatigue poisons, and it was not a good thought.

"Yeah... considering we were both there just last night," Father said slowly. The same thought was probably occurring to him, too.

"There's supposed to be a full Conclave there today," Dustil went on.

"Oh, frak, you're right. Every damn high muckety-muck is gonna be there -"

"_She's_ going to be there, too," Dustil said in a hollow voice. "Remember? So's her dad."

"For the _kersai_ - blast, Revan, get over here. This can't be good."

Revan was just leaning over the console when a pleasant electronic voice boomed _Detonation will initiate in five minutes. Please begin evacuation_, the sound echoing in the room.

"Did it say 'detonation'?" Father said, jerking straight.

"Even if this building exploded, it can't kill everyone in the dome - not unless they packed every bloody room with explosives," Revan pointed out.

"We wouldn't know if they had," Father retorted. "And even if they didn't, _we'd_ still be dead."

"Bringing in that many explosives would attract attention. It'd be something simple..." Revan shook her head.

"He said it was above," Dustil interjected. "He said... he said 'death from above'."

Father stared up at the ceiling. "Let's get to the roof."

Dustil was expecting some visible sort of device or machine when they emerged on the roof, but there was nothing but the antennae, rising several stories above them. The rest of the area was bare of any recognizable threat. No freighters or vehicles were nearby, this building being far from any traffic.

"Detonation in two minutes," he heard.

"I don't see anything..." Father peered over the edge and all around the antennae.

Without warning, the top of the antennae began to open like a flower, and the broad nose of some sort of missile extruded from the opening. It was bigger than the photon torpedos Dustil had seen on starfighters. A _lot_ bigger; it was nearly as big as a starfighter itself. The transparisteel of the dome was probably proof against light fighter fire and maybe even hits from capital ship cannons, but Dustil doubted it could sustain a blow from the inside from something so massive.

"Oh frack," Father breathed. "If that thing hits the dome -"

"Everyone inside this habitat will die of decompression." Revan's face had gone as pale as Father's.

"Including us," Father added. "We have to get up there!"

Dustil had none of their spacer experience, but he knew that meant the entire habitat would suffocate to death if that missile breached the dome.

"Detonation in fifty seconds."

"Dammit!"

"Carth, we don't have _time_ to get up there! Not even Juhani can jump that high!"

"There's a way, dammit, I know there is!" Father ran both hands through his hair. His eyes widened. "Wait... you can destroy it like you can with droids, can't you?"

"Yes, but I have to be able to reach it!" Revan pointed at the top, which continued to reveal the sleek shape of the missile.

"Detonation in thirty seconds."

Father ran to the base where there was an access panel, and tore open the door hard enough to break it off one of its hinges, uncovering neatly arranged bundles of cables and power conduits.

"Electricity conducts - give this everything you've got, and it'll jump right up to the top!"

"Detonation in ten seconds."

Revan looked like she was about to argue, but the announcement of impending fatal fireworks cut her off. She plunged both hands into the mess of wires. The Force began to build all around her like a charged thunderstorm. Dustil reached out and took his father's arm.

Father wrenched his attention away from Revan and frowned at him. "What?"

Dustil tugged harder. "We should take cover, Father." The Force built and built, and began to tighten into a vast coil that hovered above him like a slow-moving tidal wave. "We should take cover _right now_."

"Detonation in five... four... three..."

Father stared at him, but allowed Dustil to pull him under an overhang. Giant ropes of bright light crawled up the antennae, leaving char marks and sparks in their wake.

Even though he'd been expecting it, the explosion when it came deafened and blinded Dustil, sending a torrent of force, heat and wind over him and pelting him with bits of hot permacrete and metal. Ozone and the acrid stink of burned insulation and wires made him wrinkle his nose. There were holes all along the wall where overloaded power conduits had been too much for the permacrete to hold in.

"Detonation in one second."

Dustil heard his Father suck his breath in, and found himself closing his eyes and holding his own breath for... whatever might happen. But time unfroze, seconds went past, and there was no sound but wires sparking and the pops of hot permacrete cooling down. No white-hot explosion came.

Father heaved a relieved sigh and sagged against the wall. "We did it."

Dustil was feeling a little wobbly in the knees, too, and took a deep breath of the smoke-laden air.

"Revan?" Father straightened up, peering at the figure kneeling at the base of the missile housing. "Revan?" He hurried to her. Dustil followed more slowly, his heart still slowing down from the adrenaline rush.

"Revan? Oh, damn, your hands..."

Peering over his father's shoulder, Dustil saw Revan's shaking hands, blackened and covered with melted insulation, bits of skin still sticking to the half-melted bundle of wires. He winced.

"We have to get out of here before someone comes along and starts asking uncomfortable questions," Father muttered, bandaging Revan's hands quickly. "We don't have time to answer them, and I'd rather not hurt anyone." He handed Dustil the remote for the speeder.

"Got it." Dustil knew he wouldn't want to be anywhere near the police and their pointed questions, especially with the mess and bodies they'd left behind. Alarms still rang down below, and the smoke still rising from the tower was bound to attract attention.

They had already lifted off when Revan roused. "We need to get to the Conclave," Revan mumbled. She stared at her wrapped hands in bafflement. "We'll need the lady's help - we don't know if there were other traps in the other domes, and..."

"And I've got a bad feeling about that map," Father interjected. "What about the Republic embassy? I could ask the ambassador -"

"Do we have time for you to explain everything to him? Looking like that?" Revan gestured at Father, who was covered in dust and blood.

"Uh, good point. And he wasn't too happy about that stunt we pulled last night, either."

Revan picked at her bandages. "I hope we can get in to see her - their security must be pretty tight right now."

Dustil didn't need to see Father's face in the rearview mirror; he could _feel_ the knowing smirk.

"It's a good thing we've got Dustil with us, huh?" Father said.

"_Father_..." Dustil rolled his eyes.

Their speeder popped out of the tube connecting the capital city to Transients, and they all saw what was wrong the second they got close enough to the Conclave. It was perhaps not yet apparent to anyone else yet, but Dustil saw speeders converging in sinister formation around the dome. Versenne had told him it was a closed session, so no one else should have any business there after the Conclave was started.

No one else but the Sith, anyway...

"I thought you said they weren't ready yet," Revan said, watching the speeders circle around the dome like waiting carrion birds.

"They're not, I'm sure of it," Father replied. "They must've set up the timing a long time ago, but I'm willing bet the _Hawk_ those merc troops aren't ready yet. We must've messed up their schedule, maybe made them scramble before everything's in place."

"Ready or not, they can still do a lot of damage," Revan said, pointing to an entrance bay.

"Why aren't they doing anything?" Father muttered. "Can't they see something's wrong? And what do they hope to accomplish with this stunt, anyway?"

"They're only gonna kill off half the government!" Dustil burst out. _They're only gonna kill Versenne!_ They were going too slowly. He needed to get to Versenne. Now.

"Calm down, Dustil," Father said. His reasonable tone was infuriating. "Think. Even if they kill everyone in there, sooner or later the Sluis Van Fleet is gonna come down on them like a ton of permacrete, and they'll be trapped like so many rat-roaches in a plasteel barrel. So why're they doing it anyway?"

"Maybe they're planning to take hostages," Dustil suggested. It was the only thought he had that was palateable.

Father grunted. "I wish we could talk to the lady somehow, but there's no telling who could be eavesdropping."

"It's a closed session, anyway, you couldn't reach her even if you wanted to," Dustil said. _And I really, really want to._ His mind had much too much time to evolve worst-case scenarios while they were flying there.

"Pretty convenient... for the mercs." Father drummed his fingers on the dash. "Now how the hell are we gonna get in?"

"Look!" Revan pointed at a dock higher up, where they saw a shuttle painted in familiar colors.

"Isn't that Morin?" Father said, narrowing his eyes. "Why isn't he inside with the lady?"

"Closed session, remember? They're not gonna let bodyguards in," Revan reminded him.

"How do we know we can trust him?" Father asked, scowling. "That Sith knew exactly who we were -"

"Except that we didn't tell Morin where we were going, or that we were going at all," Revan pointed out.

Father grumbled grudging acceptance of this, and again Dustil saw the distracted look on his father's face.

Morin and his guards had their weapons out when Father brought their speeder down in a cautious sweep towards the dock, relaxing only when Morin recognized them. The captain gave them a polite nod, only raising his eyebrows at their dishevelment. He dismissed the two guards back to the bay doors.

"You see those?" Father began without preamble, pointing at the circling speeders.

"Yes? What of it?" Morin asked, puzzled.

Father stared goggle-eyed at the captain. "They're going to attack the Conclave!"

"While the press can be quite an annoyance in their pursuit of a hot news lead, I'd hardly phrase their persistence as an 'attack'."

"_Press_!" Father exclaimed. They all stared up at the circling vehicles. "Why would they be here?"

"Despite everything the Conclave can do to maintain privacy, security and secrecy, there are always leaks. Obviously, someone told the press there was a matter of great importance being laid before the Houses today," Morin said.

"And do _you_ know what that of 'matter of great importance' is?" Father asked.

Morin looked uncomfortable for the first time. "As my Lady's bodyguard and chief of security, of course I do." He glared at them. "You are strangers here, off-worlders." _Mercenary smuggler scum_ was left unsaid. "You cannot even begin to understand the complexities, the loyalties, the oaths we have sworn to our lords. Do not pretend you do. Just know that I am still my Lord and Lady's sworn man, and I will defend them to my last breath, whatever is decided."

"Then maybe you should take a closer look at that 'press'," Father said, taken aback by the man's vehemence. He handed over a datapad. "Maybe this'll clear things up."

It was like watching a storm unfold; Morin's face went pale, then red, bewilderment and disbelief changing to anger and resignation. Morin didn't do them the discourtesy of claiming the data as lies, but asked, after several moments spent gathering his composure, "Where did you get this? And does it have anything to do with your current... state?"

Father exchanged a glance with Revan. "You don't look surprised," he commented, avoiding the question.

The captain hesitated for a long time. "No," he said finally, "I have had my suspicions." Morin seemed to reach a conclusion. "I will mobilize my Lady's personal security force." He peered up at the circling shuttles, and reached for his comm.

Those shuttles were making Dustil nervous. And angry. In his mind, they looked like the ships that had rained fire down from the skies onto the blameless ground of Telos. The Dark Side still sang, even more loudly now that he was tired. _Kill them all, every last one of them... Kill everything and everyone until nothing can hurt you or the people you love, ever again..._

_Did that include Versenne now?_ whispered a tiny voice behind the fear and anger.

The shuttles chose that moment to attack in earnest, while Morin was still talking on his comm. Father dived and knocked Dustil and Revan into Morin, bowling them under the Vosaryk shuttle. The guards by the door ducked down next to them, clutching their rifles in white-knuckled hands. Blaster fire erupted out of sight, followed by explosions and wailing alarms. The building shook, and dust filled the smoky air.

"Sir!" one of the guards cried, gripping his rifle like it was his salvation. "W-what do we do?"

"Our duty is to protect our Lady," Morin answered, face grim. "Whatever the cost. Reinforcements are on the way, but we cannot wait for them."

"They, they must be heading for that place, the big central control room," Father said. "Remember those holos I showed you?"

Morin went pale again. "Yes... They must be planning to fight their way to the Conclave!"

"That's not all," Revan said. "They must be hitting other places - this is a large-scale effort, but it can't be all of them."

Morin nodded. "We will soon be hearing about their other targets, but right now, we can only deal with the ones here."

"There isn't enough of you to be effective," Father pointed out.

"There is if you know where to go." Morin nodded to the guards. "Some of us must get to the central control room. They've probably overwhelmed the security there, but if we can take it back, we can turn the defenses back against them."

"Then who's going to save Ver - Lady Versenne?" Dustil demanded, about to burst with impatience.

"We can decide once we reach the control room," Morin said, holding up a hand. "Without the Conclave's defenses to support us, any rescue we attempt will fail even if we manage to find the Lady."

Father turned an agonized face towards Dustil. "It's not too late to turn back," he whispered for Dustil's ears alone. "This... this isn't your fight."

The hot, angry words died on Dustil's tongue when he saw the desperate, beseeching look in his father's eyes. Strange, he'd never seen his proud father beg before. But still he shook his head.

"Would you have turned back, if you could've saved Mother?" Dustil whispered back. The words seemed to strike his father like a blow, and he subsided, but not without shooting Dustil one last driven glower.

"Fine," Father growled through a clenched jaw. He jerked a nod at Morin. "Let's go."

"Look there," Revan said, pointing across to another impressive-looking building. Shuttles were flying in formation towards it, too.

"That's the Sluis Van Conglomerate," Morin said, instinctively drawing his blaster, for whatever good it would do. He shook his head hard, and turned away. "We can't help them."

They followed Morin into the corridor, the environs shifting from utilitarian and stark permacrete to the carpeted and dim halls. The smell of smoke and burnt fabric filled the hazy air, and alarms rang constantly. In the distance, he heard blast doors slamming into place. Sentients ran past them like shadows, paying them no attention. Morin grabbed one by the shoulder.

"Where are they? Where are the House Heads?" Morin demanded of the wide-eyed Twi'lek.

"I, I, I don't know! Th-they shut the doors! They had blasters! I don't know!" the Twi'lek gabbled.

Morin shoved him away with a disgusted grunt, and resumed his lope through corridors that, while luxuriously appointed, all looked the same to Dustil. They passed more panicking sentients, and droids that were working on putting out fires. Now they started seeing bodies lying on the floor. Morin bent down briefly to inspect one dressed in a uniform with a security badge, and shook his head.

It was odd not seeing a single merc, not even any taking the fleeing sentients prisoner. Maybe Father was right about the mercs not being disciplined. Or maybe they were confident they had complete control from the central security hub.

This thought was underscored when they fetched up against a blast door blocking their way.

Morin punched the durasteel in frustration. "We can't go through this way, it's made of solid quadanium. Even lightsabers would have trouble cutting through it."

"Isn't there another way through?" Dustil snapped. While they were standing around dithering, Versenne could be in mortal danger. His memories of Korriban helped paint unpleasant pictures of just what mortal danger could entail.

Father ran back up the way they'd come, and pointed down another corridor, one that wasn't blocked. "Hey, how about going this way? See if we can't bypass the -"

A second blast door slamming shut cut off his father's response, and also separated Dustil, Revan and Morin from the two guards and his father. A furious, futile pounding sounded from the other side.

Morin rushed forward and ran his hands over the door panel, which had blinking amber lights. "They've overriden the fire control safeties," he said, his face locked into a grim mask. "The air in here will be pumped out, smothering any fires - and us."

Dustil's comm beeped. "Du-Stiller, Nami, are you all right in there?" Father asked.

"We're trapped," Revan answered, staring up and around the corridor. "Listen, you have to get to the hub, you're our only chance!"

From the strangled grunt, Dustil thought his Father knew what he had to do, but was reluctant to actually leave them to do it. Turning away from Morin, Dustil said into the comm, "Father, please. We... we'll be okay, but you have to go. I... I understand. Really." A small part of him didn't, but Dustil squelched it with logic. They couldn't do anything in here to save Versenne, but Father could, much as it galled him.

There was a deep sigh. "Okay. Okay, just, just stay put, okay?" Father said. _Like we can do anything else_, Dustil thought, rolling his eyes. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Be careful, Father," Dustil blurted, to his surprise.

There was a pause. Without a visual, Dustil couldn't begin to determine what his father was thinking. "They won't know what hit them," Father replied, and cut the comm.

Morin looked up from his own comm; Dustil had heard him muttering instructions to his men. "I hope your navigator is reliable, because whether we live or die depends now on him and my men."

* * *

With thanks to Prisoner 24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback. 


	65. Apogee

**Chapter 65: Apogee**

Carth pushed aside the unconscious Trandoshan merc slumped over the console, letting him fall to the floor. Stars and afterimages from flash grenades still crowded together in Carth's vision, and he had to waste precious seconds rubbing his eyes clear before he could make sense of the security controls. His arms and body still twitched from repeated blows from shock sticks to his torso, so maybe it was just as well that he couldn't press any buttons. He did his best to ignore the pain and squinted at the viewscreens, frantically searching for one particular corridor...

_Please, let them be all right..._

"Look, over here!" one of Morin's guards yelled. Carth heard his voice as though it were coming through layers of gauze; they'd all been deafened by a sonic grenade, and their hearing hadn't returned yet. He followed the guard's eyes to another bank of vids.

Dustil, Revan and the captain were clustered around the door panel on one of the screens; knowing those three, they weren't taking their imprisonment lying down.

_Thank the Force - they're still alive and kicking._ Relief at seeing them safe and sound made his knees wobble. The adrenaline rush that'd carried him this far was fading fast.

"Where are the controls!" Carth yelled into the guard's ear.

The guard ran his hands over the bank of controls, alternately flooding the corridor where Dustil's group was with fire retardant, switching the lights on and off, and making the alarms sound. Finally, he hit on the correct button that opened the blast doors.

"There's no point trying to find them again!" the other guard yelled. "We should wait here for them and secure this room!" He and the other guard began securing the mercs that were still alive. There weren't many.

Carth thought about arguing with them. He thought about just leaving them to it while he tried to regroup with the others by himself, to see for himself that Dustil and Revan were safe and sound. But, dammit, his treacherous body was offering up several reasons not to run off. Without his guides, he'd probably go off in the wrong direction anyway. He had to rest first.

The trip to reach the central control hub had not been as easy as finally overcoming the group of mercs in charge of it. They'd had to run through several gauntlets, fighting mercs who'd set up checkpoints at the intersections of several corridors. If it hadn't been for the fact that half the mercs of each group were looting nearby rooms for treasures, Carth's little trio would never have gotten through the first checkpoint. As it was, he and the guards hadn't escaped without injuries.

Carth dug into his pack and handed the two guards some medpacs. Carth's legs threatened to topple him from exhaustion, so he took the opportunity to sit and address his wounds. His face felt burned from too much blaster fire impacting on his energy shields, and even his excellent armor had been penetrated in several places by enemy blades. Those mercs weren't disciplined, but he had to give them credit for decent fighting skills.

_You can't collapse yet, Onasi. There's still too much to do._

"Nasi!" The yells had to be loud indeed to penetrate his hearing.

Despite his aches, Carth lurched to his feet and was staggered by the double impact of Revan's and Dustil's greetings. Carth's face hurt from the relieved grin stretching his face, not caring that his split lip started to bleed again. He gripped Dustil's shoulder and Revan's arm to reassure himself of their safety, not minding that bits of fire retardant stuck to him. Dustil's lips were moving but Carth couldn't hear him.

"What? I can't hear you," Carth said, unable to even hear himself. "We got hit by a sonic grenade."

"I said, you look like hell," Dustil shouted into his ear. His son started coughing from the smoke still rising from consoles that'd been hit by stray blaster fire.

"I feel like hell." Still, even through his exhaustion, Carth felt his heart swell at seeing his son's concern for him. "I've been through worse."

"Excellent job." Captain Morin had followed on Revan's and Dustil's heels, and now stood surveying the bodies lying around the room. He absently flicked bits of fire retardant off his uniform while scrutinizing the screens. "But we still have much to accomplish," he added, pointing to a vid showing the Conclave in session.

Carth limped over to the screen with the others. It looked as though the whole Conclave had been caught by surprise; mercs were guarding groups of House Heads who'd been forced to kneel on the floor with their hands clasped behind their heads, young and old alike. Carth heard his son breathe a sigh of relief that he shared. No one had been killed... yet.

He finally noticed that Dustil's eyes kept darting up to glance at him and back to the viewscreen. _Huh, I didn't think anything could drag his attention away from his girlfriend._

"I know I look like hell, but it can't be that bad, can it?" Carth asked. He stuck a finger into his ear and waggled it; his hearing seemed to be coming back.

Dustil ducked his head and shrugged. "You look like you got here straight through a war."

"I just took the fastest way."

Carth frowned, trying to remember more details about that nightmare journey. Other than the numbers involved and the obstacles presented, everything else was blurred in his visual memory, as if only his body truly remembered, through the pain inflicted in those desperate struggles. The blows he'd struck still seemed to linger in his arms and shoulders - but then, that could've just been the shock sticks.

_Hell, who cares, as long as I didn't fail them._

Dustil was still staring at him, disbelief in his son's eyes. _What, did you doubt I'd move heaven and earth to keep you safe?_ Anything was worth that.

Carth gripped Dustil's shoulder, turning it into a half hug. "Don't worry about me. I'll be okay."

"Reinforcements are coming," Morin announced, breaking into their low-voiced conversation. "I hope they make it in time."

"How're we going to get Lady Versenne out?" Dustil asked, his mind clearly back on the lady's fate; Carth's lips twitched at his son's fickleness. "Is there any way to reach her?"

Morin shook his head. "There are no comms allowed in closed sessions. There's a viewing gallery for spectators that ring the roof of the main Conclave chamber, but it's likely to be full of mercs by now."

"What's taking the SVN or the police so long? Do they even know?" Dustil said, frustration giving an edge to his words.

"Obviously, they don't. They must've split up the mercs, sending some to take the Conclave hostage, some to distract any help from police headquarters, and some to disrupt communications to the SVN," Morin answered grimly.

"We'll just have to take things one step at a time," Revan put in. "If we can free the House Heads, they can mobilize their household troops."

Carth looked at the screen; just as the captain said, there were rifle-bearing mercs walking around inside the gallery. The ubiquitous transparisteel windows let in weak sunlight just below the platform, falling onto the Heads clustered below.

_Windows..._

"There might be a simpler solution than using comms," Carth said, pointing to the windows in the vid. "If we can get to the right spot, we can catch someone's attention from the windows. Maybe hold up a message or something."

Morin looked dubious. "What's to stop the mercs from spotting it? Besides, even if we could get a message to them, what do you expect them to do? None of the Heads are allowed to carry weapons, and if any of them offered any resistance, the mercs might well kill them to make an example. We can't take that risk."

Carth looked at Dustil's pale face. "There must a way... I've seen them, even worked with some of them - they're not all that disciplined."

"All the more reason to act with caution."

"The Heads might not have weapons, but they've gotta be wearing a fortune in gems," Revan interjected.

"That's it!" Carth straightened, making his injuries protest. "What any merc wants is credits, and each Head must be wearing at least several thousand! And once someone points that out, every merc's gonna want some for himself. If they make enough noise, they might even distract the door guards and gallery guards."

Morin nodded slowly. "Even with my reinforcements, we'll be quite outnumbered - but we _might_ be able to overpower the door guards. However, we would have only a short time in which we could take advantage of the distraction to disarm the mercs guarding the House Heads inside."

"I think the best way of taking advantage of that distraction would be to make another distraction," Carth said, thinking back to the small skirmishes in the corridors. "Somewhere here's gotta be controls to the sound system, so that they can announce emergencies and stuff."

"So you basically want to make a giant-sized sonic grenade?" Dustil ventured, one of the first to catch on to Carth's plan.

Revan nodded. "A good way of incapacitating the mercs, but one that shouldn't hurt the Heads too much."

Morin beckoned one of the guards over to a console. "You, Ren, come over here. You're one of the best computer techs in the troops."

Carth slapped his hands together, startling all of them. "All right, if we're gonna do it, we'd better get started."

Carth maneuvered their speeder up the side of the Conclave, moving slowly so that they wouldn't attract too much attention from the mercs inside and out. Morin was standing by inside, with newly arrived House Vosaryk troops at the two guarded doorways that led to the Conclave chamber. Beside him in the speeder, Dustil had a large banner rolled up, their message to the House Heads, converted from an old House insignia pennant. It consisted of a simple word: ransom. A word they hoped would be understood by the Heads, and drive the mercs to distraction.

"Just a little more, Father," Dustil said. "A little higher... stop!"

Carth held the speeder steady while Revan and Dustil peeked in through the windows. It was too bad they couldn't break the transparisteel like the Dark Jedi had done that morning; from that height, falling glass would kill the innocent along with the mercs.

"How does it look? Do you think it'll work?" Carth asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Dustil said, turning to Carth. "Like we saw on the monitors, the mercs have their backs to the windows so that they won't be blinded by the sunlight, and the House Heads are facing them. The mercs shouldn't be able to see our sign."

"I just hope the Heads are as smart as people say and won't call attention to us," Carth replied. "Go ahead and do it."

Revan nodded and popped open the canopy, holding up the rearview mirror she'd detached from their speeder. The bandages on her hands made her fumble it a bit. By holding it up to the sun, she aimed flashes of light through the window. The plan was to focus them on Lady Versenne or on the floor near her, so that the bodies of the Heads in front of her would hide the signal.

Carth put a hand on the canopy, ready to close it for a fast getaway. "Well? Did she notice you?"

Dustil peeked in after a few seconds had passed. "Yeah! And none of the mercs noticed!" Carth saw dots of light appear on their section of the windows. "She's flashing her bracelet at us."

"All right, then use the banner." Carth held the canopy open for the next move.

Dustil held one end of the pennant while Revan grasped the other, unfurling it across the window.

"Okay, better hide again," Carth called after a few tense heartbeats. "We can't afford to let the mercs notice the shadow."

After furling the banner, Dustil peered back inside. "I... I think it's working!"

Setting the speeder on automatic, Carth shuffled across the seat towards Dustil's side and looked over his son's shoulder. Below, some of the House Heads near Lady Versenne were throwing down their jewelry, then more and more were following their example. Mercs threw down their blasters to grab the bright gems in both hands.

"Never underestimate the power of greed and stupidity," Carth muttered.

"Look at the gallery!" Dustil said, pointing.

The mercs who'd been guarding the Heads from above were beginning to shift away from the gallery windows, presumably going down to join the feeding frenzy. Carth noticed Lady Versenne's cluster of Heads began shifting towards the back, away from the mercs. Other groups were starting to follow her example. Carth just hoped no one would panic and run, and draw attention to themselves.

"Better tell Morin the show's about to start," Revan said, switching her comm on.

Everyone inside the Conclave chamber clapped their hands to their ears, mercs and House Heads alike. Mercs stopped grabbing for loot and fell to their knees, fingers stuffed into their ears or over similar auditory organs. Carth couldn't hear anything, but from the results, Morin had unleashed sonic hell inside from the security hub.

The doors at both ends of the semicircular Conclave chamber opened simultaneously, and sentients in Vosaryk colors poured through, throwing sonic and concussion grenades. Blaster fire lit up the chamber like flash lightning. The mercs were mostly caught by surprise, but a few who still had hold of weapons returned fire. Here and there, a few Vosaryk-liveried sentients fell, before the rest of their brethren focused their fire on the mercs still shooting.

"We'd better get outta here." Carth suited action to words, closing the canopy and moving back into the driver's seat. "Strap in."

Morin himself was waiting at the landing pad, standing next to the shuttle, surrounded by a small group of Vosaryk guards. To Carth's relief, none of them were pointing their weapons at their speeder. The smoke they'd seen earlier rising from parts of the Conclave looked to have stopped, though the habitat air vents hadn't gotten rid of the acrid smell completely yet.

"I thought you'd still be in charge of your people inside," Carth said as he hopped out of the speeder. "Don't you need to go supervise them or something?"

"My lieutenants can oversee the operation well enough - _my_ place is with the Lady." Morin nodded to where two guards were escorting Lady Versenne towards the shuttle. To Carth's surprise, she was holding a large blaster pistol in one small hand like she knew how to use it. The lady herself was a little disheveled, her hair mussed and robes askew, but otherwise looked fine.

Lady Versenne looked up when she heard their voices, and her eyes veered immediately to Dustil, who was standing beside Carth. She left her guards behind, moving towards his son. Carth took the opportunity to pull Morin aside, letting the girl have a private moment with Dustil. The captain resisted a little, but couldn't actually escape without breaking his elbow.

"So what about the other mercs still running around loose in there?" Carth asked, in an attempt to distract the captain. There were a lot of things he'd never done for Dustil because he hadn't been around, but now he could at least give his son a small slice of privacy.

Morin gave up the struggle, contenting himself with a look back over his shoulder at the couple. "We have it under control. Now that we're commanding the security hub, we've turned the defenses back onto the intruders. After our dramatic rescue, our House allies have finally decided to honor our agreements again, and have sent their people to reinforce us. Some of the surviving Conclave guards have rallied to us, as well, and are giving our troops some modicum of legitimacy."

Revan came up on Morin's other side. "How's the lord taking it all?"

Morin grimaced. "Not well. Not well at all. I can tell from the subzero temperature of the atmosphere around him, and the silence of deep space. He knows who the traitor is, which spares me the effort of telling him, at least. But we have no idea of what's going on right now on the shipyard."

"You mean the traitor's there?"

"Aye, which means the faster we can get there, the better." Morin craned his head back over his shoulder again.

"Hey, tell your men to be careful, Captain," Carth warned in a lower voice. "We already know he - or someone under his command - used a potent poison on Bospho. Make sure they're well prepared to handle someone who'd have no compunction about using it." Morin nodded.

Dustil only had eyes for the girl, and vice versa. Carth hated breaking their reunion up, but the visible culmination of Sayir's plans meant they had to plan a counterattack, and there was no time to waste.

"Come on, Stiller, Lady. We should go somewhere safer," Carth called. Whether it was safer or not remained to be seen. There was also the issue of Vosaryk's traitor to deal with, and then there was one other...

_I can't jump to conclusions. I have to find out for myself, first. I _have_ to. Force help me, I hope it won't turn out as badly as it did with Saul._

The trip up to the shipyard passed in a tense silence. To Carth's surprise, Bekim determinedly served tea to all of them. Sure, mercs had tried to take over the Conclave, hold the House Heads hostage, and kill his boss, but by damn, the tea was gonna get served. Carth shook his head and looked over at Lord Vosaryk.

It was a measure of the lord's distraction that he didn't complain about sharing cabin space with grubby and battered smugglers. Lady Versenne didn't speak either, content with sitting next to Dustil and holding his hand. Her father didn't even seem to notice this, but Carth did, and smiled inwardly. Even in the midst of preparation for a possible inter-House war, there was something... cute about his son's relationship.

_I sure hope we all live to see it grow._

Lord Vosaryk, on the other hand, made Carth uncomfortable. _That could be me sitting there._ Was _me sitting there. At least I had Revan, Mission, Jolee, and the others._ There had been no one for Lord Vosaryk, no one to restrain him, no one to tell him it was wrong. Or at least, no one the lord would listen to. And the one who _should've_ been advising Lord Vosaryk... hadn't.

The slight shudder the ship made on landing vibrated up Carth's bootheels. Morin shared a meaningful glance with the guards, wounded and unwounded alike; in response, they nodded and stood straighter, their holds on their weapons firm and determined.

"My Lord, I think the first thing we must ascertain is the whereabouts of our turncoat traitor," Morin said to Lord Vosaryk, who seemed to wake up out of his frigid silence.

"Yes... yes, that would be best." Vosaryk shook himself and straightened his formal robes as he stalked towards the ramp. His daughter perforce had to move to follow him, reluctantly letting go of Dustil.

Outside, a small horde of medical droids and what Carth assumed were doctors mobbed the lord and his daughter. Lord Vosaryk's huge bodyguard waded through the others, looking relieved at seeing his charge alive.

Since no one said anything to the contrary or tried to stop them, Carth followed his son and Revan out on Lady Versenne's heels. Deliberately, he began to lag behind his son, widening the gap.

As-if casual, Carth murmured a question to one of the wounded guards, one of the two who'd helped him navigate the Conclave corridors. "So, I'm guessing all of your captains have been recalled for this emergency."

Less wary than before, the guard answered, "Yes, they've been called to meet the Lord in the main conference room. The captain sent out the call only a few minutes ago."

"So they'd just be arriving."

The guard nodded. "I imagine so."

Carth watched the others file into the main office; Morin looked sour at not be able to confiscate Dustil's and Revan's weapons. No doubt Lord Vosaryk's bodyguard wouldn't be so lax about it. Carth excused himself, citing a call of nature; the guard gave him directions for the 'fresher. Two guards remained at the doorway to the office. Carth walked along the hall, and stopped at the next corner.

_Okay, think this through, Onasi._ It should take the Vosaryk people some time to locate every captain who'd arrived on Sluis Van for the big Bazaar's End party, and even more time for every one of them to get here. So, that meant Carth had some time to corner the prime suspect when he arrived. Besides, they must be preoccupied with all the excitement from Sayir's hostile takeover. They just might overlook Carth long enough for him to get all the information he needed.

_Still, there's no excuse for you to dawdle. So don't._

After about ten minutes, his patience was rewarded when he heard footsteps sounding from the other direction. The freighter captains were stopped by the guards, who spent more time than usual poring over their identification. Carth's breath stopped for a moment when he saw Dar in the back of the group, wearing a less formal version of a captain's uniform. Carth watched his friend's reaction carefully, and saw the stiffening in Dar's spine when he looked into the office. Seeing his employers alive and well, maybe? Or was it from seeing Revan and Dustil? Carth forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly.

Dar stepped away from the huddle of captains and left under the cover of their complaints about the guards' slowness and delay. Carth sidled around the group and followed Dar at a discreet distance.

It didn't take Dar long to find an empty office and slip into it. Carth stood outside, slipping a foot into the groove to keep the door from sliding shut. Dar didn't even bother to lock the door, but scurried over to a computer terminal. Carth pushed the door open to let himself in, let it close, and locked it.

Carth was just a little surprised by how calm he felt, but he could feel the anger building inside him. The feeling of déjà vu was creeping over him. _It's happening again. It's happening _again. _I'm not gonna let you do this to me, Dar. Not again._ Just like on the _Leviathan_, his rage flashed over into cold calculation, carefully imprisoning any thoughts of rash moves and messy retributions inside a chrysalis of ice.

"Dammit, where is that damned son-of-a-schutta," Carth heard Dar mutter. On the screen, Carth saw _Unable to reach recipient, please stand by_.

"If you're trying to reach that Sith, Dar, I suggest you try calling hell," Carth said. Dar spun around, eyes going wide with shock.

He didn't know how, but Carth found himself twisting Dar's prosthetic arm up and behind his back, Dar's blaster spinning away towards the door. He slammed Dar into the wall, mashing his friend's face into the metal surface with his other hand on the back of Dar's neck.

"So, when were you going to tell me you betrayed the Republic and started working for the other side?" Carth hissed into Dar's ear. One part of Carth watched Dar squirm dispassionately, and twisted Dar's arm up higher to stop his struggles. Dar gasped with pain. The rest of Carth struggled to contain his rage inside its prison of ice.

"Carth, I-I can explain -"

"Explain _what_?" Carth snarled. "Explain how you told that Sith we were coming, and to expect company? Explain how he knew Dustil was Force sensitive? Explain how you led my son, _my son_, right into a trap? _I should kill you for that alone._"

Carth's hand spasmed and tightened on Dar's neck, and he shook his friend hard. He had to restrain himself from bashing Dar's head in until it turned into bloody ruins. It would be so easy to just let go, let go of his control. It would be so easy to move his fingers just enough, just to the right spots, to break Dar's neck. His muscles were shaking with the effort of holding himself back.

Time rolled back, peeling back from the now to expose the past. For an odd second, Carth thought he held Saul's neck in his hand instead of Dar's, and they stood on the bridge of the _Leviathan_ instead the small office. Then he shook himself, banishing the illusion. No, he wasn't on a ship, he wasn't holding Saul, he was holding Dar. Someone else he'd thought of as a friend, someone else he'd respected and admired.

"No one knew we were going there. We didn't even tell the Vosaryk people, we never gave them that address. So explain to me just how the hell they knew about us," Carth continued when he felt he could speak coherently. His lips peeled back in a snarl. "What's that? You're speechless? Well, then, let me tell you what _I_ think.

"I think the second you saw my datapad, you went and tattled to your Sith buddy, telling him all about us and to set out tea for three. But you didn't know one tiny detail - Dustil's not the only one who's Force sensitive. I gotta tell you, your best pal's dead."

Dar turned his head to look over his shoulder at Carth, his eyes wide. Carth tightened his grip on Dar's neck.

"Give me one _damned_ good reason I shouldn't break your neck right now." Carth could barely manage to keep his voice down. "You know, I wouldn't even be this, this _angry_ with you if I were the only one you'd let down. But I told you I couldn't keep Dustil from coming with me. You _knew_ he'd be there. You set us up - you would've let him walk to his death. You _knew_."

Dar was silent for several long moments, while Carth's anger built and built until it threatened to shatter his self-control. Then Dar spoke.

"Rinay was pregnant."

The words cut through Carth's heart like a well-aimed vibroshiv, slicing away his anger, leaving him cold and empty like nothing else could. The tide of fury that had threatened to overwhelm his control foundered. "W-what? What're you talking about?"

Dar turned his face back to the wall. "You might as well let me go. I won't fight you."

Carth tensed for some trick. _Think this through, Onasi. What could Dar do to you, really?_ He was in armor, and had quite a few weapons on him; Dar was only in uniform, and disarmed. The only real danger was from Dar's prosthetics, but only if he got close enough to Carth. _Where's the harm? But... I've been tricked before..._

_Maybe it's better for both of us if I'm not close enough to break his neck._

"All right, Dar, I'm gonna let you go... but I swear to the Force, if you even sneeze wrong, I'm gonna shoot first and ask questions later."

Carth let Dar go and distanced himself, making sure he could cover both Dar and the door. Dar sat in the only chair in the small office, absently rubbed the red pressure mark on his cheek, and then he buried his face in his hands.

"I've never told anyone else about this, Carth. It was my secret, mine... and Rinay's." Dar took a breath, finally looking up at Carth. "She told me she was pregnant just before the Mandalorian Wars started. There was some electronic glitch, and they messed up renewing her implant. We were in the middle of our tour. I wanted to resign my commission right then and there, or at least take leave, but she said she wanted to finish out the tour before we'd both resign. She... she would've been only a few weeks into her pregnancy by then, so there'd be no problems. I was gonna talk to her squadron leader, make sure she only got light duties.

"Rinay said she wanted to make sure we had the credits, you know, to start our family out right, make sure there were no problems. And then... then the Mandalorians surprised us, and... that was the end of it for our plans." Dar sat slumped in his chair, looking old and defeated.

"I... I'm sorry." Carth didn't know what else to say. He tried to muster up the anger and betrayal he felt before, but... couldn't. Rinay had also been a good friend of his.

_Besides, I know what ashes tastes like, too._

Carth wrenched his mind back on track. "I'm sorry as hell about that, but I don't see what that's gotta do with _this_."

"It was _my_ fault." Dar rubbed his face. "I should've argued with her more, tried harder to convince her to resign... if I had, we'd both be on Corellia, and you and I, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"I'm sorry, I really am, but what the hell does that have to do with you betraying the Republic? Betraying _me_? I thought we were _friends_." Carth tried hard to muster up the outrage and cold anger again. Dammit, he was here to confront Dar, not comfort him.

It was hard. Even now he could hardly wrap his mind around it, hoping against hope that he was wrong about Dar.

Dar sighed and tugged on his earring. "It... I didn't start out this way. But... after Rinay died fighting the Mandalorians, I got to thinking. I got to thinking real hard."

"Thinking about _what_? Get to the damn point." Carth restrained himself from reaching out and shaking the answers out of his friend. The need to understand was overwhelming.

"Thinking about how the Republic betrayed me first. How the Republic betrayed me and Rinay. I admit it, I was angry. Real angry, ready to lash out at anything."

"How can you say that?" Carth blurted. "The Republic saved your life! You got the latest in prosthetics, you got discharged with a full pension - hell, you even got a job here courtesy of Fleet recommendations!"

Dar slammed his fists on his chair arms. "Don't you get it, Carth? If the Senate had seen this coming, if they'd been paying attention to Mandalorian aggression on the Outer Rim, we never would've been surprised by that strike force! Rinay would still be alive, and our daughter, too!"

Carth flinched from the old pain in Dar's voice; it was like hearing an echo. But he had to stand firm against it. "Is that when you decided to join the other side?"

Dar snorted, a tired sound from a tired man. "Back then, I wasn't in much shape to decide whether I should get my gimp ass out of bed each day."

"Why didn't you go to your brother, then? He would've helped you."

"You know why." Dar tossed his head and made a disgusted face. "The Republic couldn't help me the first time, why the hell would they the second time? They didn't do _you_ much good either."

Carth clenched his teeth together and grated out, "We're talking about you, not me. Get on with it. So when did they approach you? Or did you approach them?"

Unable to distract Carth, Dar reluctantly went on. "About a year or so ago. Hersig took me aside one day when it was my turn to mind the training facility. He told me about how old man Vosaryk was taking it into his head to escalate his battle with Khyrohn more directly, more intense than just scuffles in the stock market. See, we all knew the two Houses were old rivals, but lately it's been getting more and more bitter. When Hersig told me... it, it all started making _sense_."

Dar looked up at Carth, pleading in his eyes. "You gotta understand, I was terrified that the old man's vendetta was gonna spill over onto my family, Carth. I know that's not allowed, but dead is dead, accident or not. I had a family again, I couldn't stand the thought that I might lose another chance to get my life straightened out."

"Didn't you know you were gonna be siding with the Sith? That you were helping to commit treason?" Carth's lip curled with disgust. "You're smarter than that."

"N-no. Hersig said we needed to change the laws about _kersai_, that we had to straighten out Sluis Van. House Sayir was the only other House that could do it."

Carth's brows climbed up. "Starting a revolution at your age?"

"Believe me, I didn't want to go looking for trouble. I've had enough of that for a lifetime. I finally thought I was gonna settle down and start a new family somewhere safe. Then I realized the political situation could endanger them at any time. I had to do _something_." Dar raised his hands and groped around in the air, as if trying to search for and hold onto the elusive _something_ he was going to do.

Carth barked out a bitter laugh. "Sure, by helping Sayir take out both Houses. What were you gonna do about the Sluissi? Line 'em up and shoot 'em all? Destroy their habitats?"

Dar looked down and away. "The Sluissi don't care about the Houses. They've never stuck their snouts into House business before." But Carth could tell his friend's protest was tepid.

"Yeah, right, and I'm the Queen of Naboo." Carth shook his head, appalled at Dar's stupidity. "The Sluissi wouldn't stand for it, and you know it. They'd be interested in seeing what happens to the power vacuum alone! I bet the _Ebon Hawk_ Sayir figured they'd get to keep Sluis Van with the other two Houses outta the way, but the Sith sure as hell wouldn't settle for half measures."

"I didn't know, Carth -"

Carth's frayed temper snapped. "That's the biggest load of bantha poodoo I've ever heard! The Dar I know would've figured it out by now! The Sith are just using Sayir! They're using Sayir and Vosaryk and you! Sayir's gonna lay the groundwork for an insurrection, and the Sith are gonna swoop in here and pluck it right outta their hands!"

He slammed a fist down on the desk, startling Dar. "And you know what else? They were setting you up as the fall guy, did you know that?" Carth's lips curled in a humorless smile at seeing Dar's gape of shock and disbelief. "That kidnapping attempt on the lady, the attempted assassinations, the murder of one of the people who were trying to capture us - they all had to be inside jobs! No one else outside of the House could've known about the lady's movements, been trusted enough to get close to Bospho, had knowledge of the shipyard's layout - no one else but Hersig - and you."

_The other ship captains might be in on the conspiracy, too..._ Carth reminded himself. But none of the other ship captains matched up to the scenario. Most didn't have families on Sluis Van, none had Dar's background and connections to OFI, nor did they have Dar's combat expertise. No, Dar was the most suspect.

"No..." Dar breathed, nearly slack-jawed as he thought about all the startling implications.

"Yeah. If the House had found out about the plot prematurely, you would've been the sacrificial nerf Hersig threw to the wolves." Carth leaned down, getting into Dar's face. "Do you get it now? Hersig never intended to help you; someone as ambitious as him would never share power! The second he got into position, you would've been found dead, face-down in some alley with a knife in your back. And your family probably won't last much longer after that."

From the pale, blood-drained face his friend turned up to him, Carth hoped what he'd said had gotten through. _I just hope it isn't all an act. He's fooled me before._ Carth had to wonder what had been going through Dar's head; then again, logic didn't really come into play if family's involved. Now that the rage had dissipated a bit, he could almost sympathize with Dar. Almost.

"All right. All right, you got me there," Dar said after a long while. "It looks like I've been played for a right fool." He ran a hand through his graying hair and took a deep breath, as if trying to put it behind him. "But I couldn't have been working for a Sith. The Republic won the war, the Sith are beaten, Malak's dead -"

Carth jerked his hand up, cutting Dar off. "There are still Sith out there. Sure, they lost their leader, but a dozen more are stepping up to replace him! Hell, we were out here because OFI and the Jedi Council sent us to investigate a splinter Sith fleet that've been attacking Outer Rim colonies.

"Let's face it, even if Sayir could take over without Sith help, the Sluis Van status quo is gonna change forever - for the worse! Think about it - if Sayir puts all their people in the government, what's gonna happen to the Sluissi? They're the ones who build the majority of the warships - they're gonna get turned into second-class citizens at best, slaves at the worst. They might even hand the Sluissi on the planet over as hostages, to keep the workers from making trouble while working on the shipyards. Is that the kind of regime you want to help put in power, Dar? Is that the kind of people you'd want to work for? You're the one who talked so much about honor and loyalty, what's _your_ answer?"

"I did it for my family!" Dar clenched his fists again; Carth tensed. "Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same for Morgana and Dustil."

Carth was silent for some minutes, unable to stop thinking about the attack on Telos over and over. Thinking about Saul's offer. Thinking about Morgana's probable reaction.

"I don't know what I would've done," Carth said. "I never had time to think about those kinds of what-ifs, thinking about anything else other than getting back in time to save them, or getting revenge. But I'm pretty sure Ana wouldn't have appreciated it, and neither would Rinay. Rinay _fought_ against this sort of treachery, she never would've wanted to be part of it, and she never would've wanted you to be, either!

"And if there's one thing I've learned from the wars, it's that at least Mandalorians keep their oaths and promises, for all their barbaric ways. The Sith would remove you from the gene pool, cutting you down because you're weak."

Dar shook his head, denying his words. "I still don't really believe you about the Dark Jedi. The Jedi Council must've wiped them out, right? Why would they be here, in such a remote sector?"

Carth rummaged in a pouch and pulled out a silvery rod and ignited it. The bright red beam lit up the room. "So where do you think I got this, huh? The Sluis Van Souvenir and Gift Shop? There was a Dark Jedi, all right. We took care of him." He put it back into a pocket. "You better not think I'm lying."

"No - of course not." Dar ran his hands through his hair. "Okay, you've convinced me, Carth. It looks like I've made a big, big mistake. But... they know who I am, they know where I live, my family -"

Carth rubbed his face. Damn all the complications. "If you can't trust the Republic to keep them safe, will you trust me?"

Dar stared at him. "But... why? Not only did I foreswear myself, I set you up for a trap! I wouldn't blame you if you pointed a blaster at me and pulled the trigger right now. It's the least I deserve."

Carth twitched at the echo of Revan's despair in Dar's voice. His head was telling him it was the logical, safe thing to do, but his heart was telling him it would be wrong. Hypocritical, even, considering the company he kept, these days. It wasn't his place to judge and execute Dar.

_And anyway, I've killed enough people today._

"You'll have to answer to the Sluis Van and House authorities for all this, after this thing with Sayir is over and done with," Carth said, deciding honesty was the best policy here. "And maybe even the Republic, for treason, I dunno. But right now, we need all the help we can get to straighten this mess out. I get the feeling this is just the beginning."

Dar gaped at him. "How do you know I won't turn on you the second your back's turned? Once I get back on my ship, there's no way you could reach me."

Carth spun and grabbed Dar by his collar, pulling him up off his chair until his nose was just a few centimeters away from Carth's face. "Because," Carth breathed, "you owe _me_ before you owe anyone else. You owe me before House Vosaryk, before Sluis Van, before even the Republic. I swear to the Force that if you turn on me again, you'd better make your peace with whatever gods you have, because I _will_ come after you wherever you run - and you'll learn that this galaxy isn't big enough to hide in - not from me."

Opening his hand, Carth released Dar and added, "Remember, Saul had the whole Sith fleet and Malak to hide behind. It took me a while, but I still nailed him in the end." His lip curled. "_You?_ You wouldn't have a snowball's chance on Tatooine."

"So... what're you gonna do now? Turn me in?" Dar asked in a small voice.

"No. Like I said, we need all the help we can get." Carth paced towards the door and back, keep one eye on Dar. "You're gonna go back out there with me. If there's fighting, you can vouch for me. Get me into any war councils there are, if you can. They haven't got the experience here to handle a full-fledged firefight if Sayir penetrates the defenses from the habitats. As for the rest, you fight for Sluis Van if it comes to it. You fight for your family."

Dar nodded, looking relieved. "I will. I'd give you my word, but we both know it's a debased coin, right about now."

Carth nodded. "I've got my eye on you. For your sake, you'd better not pull anything funny." He palmed open the door and jerked his head towards it. "We'd better join the others now, they're probably wondering where we've been."

"Carth, wait."

"What?" Carth said, frowning. Was Dar stalling?

"Promise me something?" Dar stared at his boots. "I know you don't owe me a damned thing, but..."

"What? I can't promise not to turn you in, Dar."

"No, it's not that." Dar sighed and pulled his family holocube out of a pocket. "Don't tell them. Let me explain it, in my own words. Before it all comes out in a trial."

Carth hesitated. He supposed Dar had that right. "All right. I promise." He bent and picked up the blaster on the floor, and handed it back to Dar.

Dar took it but continued to block the door. "Carth... are we still friends?" he asked.

"I don't know," Carth said after thinking over his answer. "But I don't usually give anyone another chance after they've lost my trust. I don't know if I'll ever forgive you. I would... I'd need more time. Maybe. Someday."

Dar looked saddened at this answer, but nodded and moved out into the hallway. Carth followed him.

The two guards passed them into the main office, where Carth's eyes were drawn towards the lord's aide, now slumped in layers of heavy bindings. Probably the same Hersig who had approached Dar to further his treason; Carth couldn't help the angry glare he directed Hersig's way. If that man hadn't overreached himself... Carth shook away the might-have-beens and looked around. One notable absence was that of Lord Vosaryk; none of his retainers were present, either.

Dar went on to join with the cluster of captains standing around a holo of the shipyard, talking in low tones with Morin and Lady Vosaryk. Carth slid into a seat next to Revan and nodded to Dustil, who sat on the other end of the low couch. Now that the action was over, little tremors began to shudder in his belly. He tried to still the shaking in his legs and hands, battle nerves from the fights and argument with Dar making him shiver.

"So, what happened?" Carth whispered once he was certain his voice would be steady. "I thought old man Vosaryk would be here for sure."

"Where have you _been_?" Dustil hissed from across Revan. "He got thrown out - Lady Versenne's in charge now. You missed all the excitement."

"I, uh, I was just talking to Dar." Carth declined to add anything more; it wasn't the time, and they couldn't afford anymore distractions.

Revan shot him a sideways look. "What happened? You look upset."

Carth evaded the question. "With this disguise, I always look upset." He almost laughed at the twin expressions of exasperation on Revan's and Dustil's faces. "Anyway, are you trying to tell me the girl just staged a coup?"

Revan's exasperated voice was interrupted by the alarms beginning to blare, the same kind he'd heard at Vanquo, Serocco, and many other places during the wars. Alarms he'd hoped he'd never have to hear again. That was the standard Republic signal for -

Invasion imminent.

* * *

With thanks to Prisoner 24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback.


	66. Invasion

**Chapter 66: Invasion**

Dustil couldn't help grinning like a fool when he saw Lady Versenne move towards him. She was smiling, too, a smile that shone brighter than the weak Sluis Van sun, filling his vision with light. He forgot everything else; the revelations of the morning, the frantic scrambles and his father's injuries were pushed away when she gripped his hands.

And he found himself unable to think of anything to say. Versenne had lost her jewels; should he mention something so obvious?

After a frantic second spent wracking his brains, Dustil came up with, "Are you all right? You're not hurt, are you?"

Lady Versenne smiled again, shook her head, and replied, "No, I'm not hurt. My ears are still ringing a little from the audio feedback in the Conclave chamber, but I'm fine otherwise. Some of the older House Heads did complain about being deafened."

"That wasn't my idea," Dustil blurted, afraid she would blame him. Quickly, Dustil gave credit where credit was due. "That was my fa - Nasi's idea."

"It was a good idea," Lady Versenne said, glancing at Father, who had corralled Captain Morin some distance away. Dustil gritted his teeth.

"I helped a little bit, too," Dustil added hastily, determined to grab some of her admiration for his own.

"I do not doubt your courage, Stiller," Lady Versenne murmured, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. "It was very brave of you to stay after bringing Captain Morin proof of this morning's doings. You did not have to."

"We couldn't just leave you in such a dangerous situation." I _wouldn't._ Dustil cleared his throat. "I'm uh, glad we could help."

Again he couldn't think of anything more to say, until his eyes fell on the blaster pistol tucked into her belt. Dustil blurted, "You know how to shoot?" before he could stop himself from stating the obvious.

For the first time, Dustil saw Lady Versenne _grin_. There was nothing demure about it. He'd thought her smiles amazing, but her grin downright astonished him.

"Yes, all potential Heirs are taught self-defense. I only resort to violence as a last resort." Versenne, too, seemed to run out of things to say.

So had he. Dustil groped for small talk as desperately as he had for answers to Ban's questions at the academy. That was when his father saved him. _Again_, Dustil tried not to think. With a mixture of chagrin, relief and annoyance, Dustil turned away from Versenne.

Father didn't look any better in the broad light of a Sluis Van day than he had inside the Conclave; his face was puffy and swollen from energy burns and his left eye was nearly shut. It was amazing that he could still stand.

"Come on, Stiller, Lady. We should go somewhere safer," Father called.

Dustil nodded, and reluctantly let go of Versenne's hands. To his surprise and pleasure, Versenne kept her grip on his left hand. Dustil could see the slight disapproval on Captain Morin's face over Father's shoulder, but since Versenne hadn't protested, the captain couldn't hardly do anything about it. But Dustil was still careful to hide his smirk.

It was hard to believe people had tried to kill them just this morning. It was hard to believe that, right now, he was sitting so close to Versenne that he could feel the heat of her skin where his thigh pressed against hers. It was even harder to believe that Versenne's father wasn't ordering his guards to throw him out the nearest airlock for daring to even look at his daughter.

Dustil wasn't able to keep the smile off his face, not even minding Father's amusement when their eyes met.

As the shuttle started to lift off, Dustil looked out through the port. The Conclave seemed quiet now, and the smoke of the earlier explosions were now dissipating. Past the round dome of the Conclave, however, scores of shuttles were still hovering over and around the Conglomerate building. The fighting still looked to be raging fierce there. And this was just the enemy activity in the capital - what was happening in Transients Dome and the other habitats?

A more interesting question almost stopped him in his tracks.

_Why do you care?_

The question filled his mind from one corner to another, so all encompassing that he only heard Versenne talking to Morin with half an ear. One part of his mind watched the others get stuffed into whatever available space there was in the small cabin; Versenne's personal guards watched the viewports, alert for danger. The rest of him focused on the question.

_Why do I care?_

The Sith philosophy was clear: you helped yourself, and yourself only. Everyone else became tools at best, enemies that threatened your position at worst, temporary allies to be turned on at the first opportunity. That was the Sith way.

So when did he start caring about the other people on Sluis Van? The ones he cared about - the ones still alive - were himself, and, Dustil reluctantly counted, his father. And now, Lady Versenne. When did that tiny horizon expand so far?

Dustil glanced at his father, who still looked like he'd come through a war. Father had looked like that because he had to get Dustil and Revan - and Morin - out of the trap, but Dustil had seen him look much worse when he'd come home from the wars. Wounded in the line of duty, defending faceless strangers who'd never met his father, and never would.

For the sake of those strangers, Father had hardly been home, and when he did come home, more often than not he was wounded badly.

_And I hated him for it._

Dustil raised his eyes and looked around. Father sat next to him; across from Dustil sat Lord Vosaryk, who seemed oblivious to the fact that his daughter was holding Dustil's hand. But behind the lord were his retainers. For the first time, Dustil scrutinized them, and wondered if they had families, had sons or daughters, or brothers and sisters on Sluis Van, in Transients Dome or scattered across the other habitats.

The answer to that question took up so much of his attention that he didn't notice Father hadn't followed them into Lord Vosaryk's office until he had sat down on a couch near but not next to Revan. Lord Vosaryk's and Lady Versenne's bodyguards lined the walls, and it didn't seem prudent to draw their grim attention with questions. Father probably had to visit the 'fresher or something.

Versenne had to let go of Dustil's hand now, but not before he squeezed her fingers gently in encouragement, knowing the confrontations to come.

Lord Vosaryk's burly bodyguard walked up to them, holding out a familiar box. Dustil readily gave up his weapons, Revan doing likewise. Lord Vosaryk's bodyguard looked much less grim at their ready compliance, unbending so much as to nod his gratitude.

Revan frowned at the empty seat next to her. "Where'd your father go?"

Dustil wrenched his eyes from Versenne to glare at her. "_I'm_ not his keeper," he snapped, unwilling to confess his unease to her.

Revan ignored him, her eyes unfocused. "He's somewhere nearby..."

"He probably just went to the 'fresher," Dustil said, but worry was starting to gnaw at him again. Was Father more injured than he'd let on? He could hear Revan sucking hard on a mint, grinding it to a powder.

Her usual fidgeting curtailed by her bandages, Revan made do by biting the loose flaps on the ends of her wrapped fingers. "I suppose I'd know if he were in danger this close."

"Shut up, they're talking," Dustil hissed.

"I want Hersig," Lord Vosaryk announced, cutting through the silence. They were the first words he'd uttered since leaving the shuttle.

"Yes, sir," Morin murmured. Well, what else could Morin say, in the face of the lord's quiet, seething fury? Dustil did not envy the captain's position. There was a quiet beep from the captain's comm; Morin, obviously expecting it, took the call. Morin's glance crossed the guards' eyes, making them straighten in understanding.

Lady Versenne, observing the byplay, said, "How very efficient, Captain. Perhaps I should've had you transferred to my service earlier."

The captain sketched a slight bow. "Lord, Lady. I've had my people observing all of Bospho's recent contacts since I replaced him. It seemed... prudent, after obtaining concrete proof."

_Yeah, I'd shake out a dead man's boots, too, before I put them on._

"It had to be an inside job," Revan whispered. "All the strongest fortresses are taken by treachery, not force."

_And you should know._ Dustil glowered at her before turning back to watch Versenne.

It didn't take long for Hersig to be brought in, surrounded by guards; the same nondescript, unmemorable man Dustil had seen around Lord Vosaryk, and most recently at the Bazaar's End party. Dustil watched the man's expressions flicker through shock, anger, despair, resignation and defeat. Hersig's mouth twisted as though he wanted to curse or spit on the immaculate carpet. When his gaze fell on Dustil and Revan, the bitter venom in his eyes nearly made Dustil recoil.

Dustil controlled himself. _Come on, Master Yuthura could've eaten this guy for lunch. You've got no excuse. _Father_ wouldn't be intimidated. Speaking of Father..._ Dustil glanced at the door, wondering where Father could've went. Was it just delayed indigestion, or something more sinister?

Captain Morin nodded to the guards, who pushed Hersig down onto a chair and proceeded to festoon their prisoner in restraints until he looked like something ready to be embalmed. The captain then held up a strip of patches, which made Hersig hiss in despair and frustration.

"The medic would've noticed if you had an artificially induced anaphylax to truth serum on your monthly physical, I think." In a slow, sinister motion, Morin removed a patch and stuck it on Hersig's neck.

"Well?" Versenne said, after a few moments had gone by. Lord Vosaryk looked like he didn't trust himself to speak.

Morin peeled the patch off, to reveal no change on Hersig's skin. Quickly, he pressed a hypo to the same spot. Hersig glared at them all.

"Now, what is your name?" Morin asked in the first round of the questioning.

Dustil watched as the man unwillingly disgorged the standard replies to verify the serum's effectiveness. It was supposed to be better than the usual Sith torture chamber, but Dustil couldn't help wanting Hersig to suffer a bit more. A lot more. Lord Vosaryk and Versenne allowed the captain to conduct it all, doubtless using the time to regain their composure. Or maybe they just didn't want to muddle the interrogation.

Finally, the captain reached the pertinent part. Dustil leaned forward; next to him, a rustle of cloth indicated Revan had, too.

"When did you start working against House Vosaryk?"

Hersig's unwilling lips puffed out, and his face began to sheen with sweat as the serum induced pain. "Five years ago," he finally spat. He even had the gall to rattle off the exact date and time.

Morin glanced aside at his notes. "The explosion that knocked out the information network - that was _your_ doing, then."

"No. I had nothing to do with it." The serum forced Hersig to add, "But it was my idea."

"Why? For what purpose?"

"To fiddle with the records, of course." After prodding by both the drug and Morin, Hersig elaborated, "I had to make sure the main base was in a building purchased by an unremarkable company, and funds funneled through dummy corporations. Certain files and identity records had to be altered. We couldn't risk anyone finding discrepancies in a plan that would take years to bring to fruition."

"And what was this 'plan'?" Morin pressed.

"I don't know everything." Hersig glowered. "I only helped with the logistics."

"Who did you help?"

"Dask."

Morin gritted his teeth at these unhelpful answers. Dustil wondered if the captain was starting to share his belief in more rigorous and painful interrogation techniques.

Morin assumed an expression of patience. "Dask? Who is this Dask?"

"My liason with Sayir."

"Was he the one in charge of those odd soldiers who disguised themselves as police? The ones sent to capture the offworlders?" Morin leaned towards the prisoner.

"How the hell should I know?" Hersig curled his lip and sneered.

Morin tried a different tack. "Were you the one who killed the prisoner in the sickbay?"

The pause this time was very long as Hersig fought the drug; beads of sweat dripped down his forehead, and he bit his thin lips hard enough to draw blood. But the drug was relentless, and finally Hersig's will broke.

"Yes! I did it!" Hersig gasped in an explosive exhalation.

Hersig seemed to know he was beaten, and the rest of his responses were given in a dull monotone.

"So you confess to killing the prisoner. You were the one who destroyed the evidence, as well, weren't you? Did you act alone in this particular incident?"

Hersig managed a scowl. "Yes. The damned incompetent fool. I was the only one who could silence him." He shivered a little in his bonds. "Dask was most displeased."

Dustil guessed that the sergeant's death had been much more merciful than it would've been.

Morin consulted his datapad. "So, five years ago you helped Dask establish his base here, and set up an extensive network of information gathering. But who did this Dask _work_ for?"

"I don't know. Sayir, I assume," was the listless answer.

_You assume wrong,_ Dustil thought.

"Then I suppose everything you've done from that moment on, you've done for _him_," Lord Vosaryk said, his voice dangerously calm. His eyes looked bright and feverish.

Hersig glanced at his employer, then away. "Yes," he said.

"Family, Hersig," Lord Vosaryk continued. "My father himself decreed that you were to be taken in, raised here with us, given all the comforts and education we could afford. Why betray us?"

Hersig's lips twisted. "Because I would never inherit. All that honor, weath, responsibility will go to your daughter. Why shouldn't I get some small portion of it? Why work so hard? For what?"

"Is... is that why?" Lord Vosaryk looked stunned. "Then..."

"The attempted assassinations, Bospho's death, the disruptions, the tampering of records..." Morin said slowly. "These were your doing as well."

The twisted smile on Hersig's face seemed to confirm it. "Dask wanted the House in disarray, too distracted with its own affairs to interfere with his plans. I saw no reason not to further my own ambitions while following his orders," he added without prompting.

"So the purpose behind these... maneuvers was to weaken and divide House Vosaryk," Morin speculated. "Undermining our alliances, making us expend our energies and resources on the wrong targets, pinning our attentions on House Khyrohn..." Morin glanced at his lord, and went on, "Leaving Sayir in a much stronger position to take us over."

To Dustil's surprise, Versenne nodded, bleak understanding in her face. Of course, she'd know how House wars were conducted. That was how the Sith operated, too. The more subtle kind of Sith, anyway. Dustil tried to banish the sound of Ban's voice as she lectured.

_"Find the weak spot. Remember it - and at the right time and place - exploit it."_

Hersig had known just where and how to sink the knife in - right into Lord Vosaryk's prejudices. Growing surmise dawned in the eyes of Lord Vosaryk and his daughter.

"Mother..." Versenne had gone white. She seemed to have come to the logical conclusion. Hersig flinched.

So had Lord Vosaryk.

"My lord, please, calm yourself!" Morin barely managed to stop Lord Vosaryk's enraged lunge at Hersig. Guards peeled off from their positions at the walls to restrain him. Hersig seemed more alarmed at his lord's loss of control than he had at his capture. Lord Vosaryk was speechless with fury, unable to utter even a sound.

Dustil tensed, wondering just whom he should be knocking down.

Revan restrained him. "Don't interfere. It's family business now."

"Lord Vosaryk, please..." Morin was coaxing his boss back to his chair; the lord looked angry enough to bite Hersig's head off from twenty meters away. Vosaryk's breathing was heavy and loud in the silence.

"My mother... she was always kind to you, Hersig," Versenne said in a small, shaking voice that made Dustil long to go and comfort her.

Hersig's smile faltered, bitter triumph turning to... what? Shame? Pain? Dustil stared at him, silently urging the man to explain himself; he hoped the man was at least sorry.

"I didn't want to do it." Hersig looked away. "I wanted... so much. I - wanted."

Versenne stared at him, her mother's murderer, as if searching his face for meaning, anything that would explain why he'd done what he'd done. Then she squared her shoulders, turning her back on Hersig, and faced her father.

"Father, I... I think you know what to do," Versenne said, her face nearly crumpling with pain. "You must step down as House Head, Da."

Dustil was mystified by this reaction, and by the expression on her face, so was Revan.

The rage on Lord Vosaryk's face faded, to be replaced by bafflement. He stared at his daughter for several long minutes, and it seemed to Dustil that the tension in the room, already high, ratcheted up several more notches.

Lord Vosaryk shook his head slowly. "No... no. You're too young, Senni. You're not prepared for this. I can't simply hand the responsibility of House Head to you at this critical juncture."

Dustil heard Revan suck in her breath. If it came to a fight between the House Head and the Heir, it would be a loss for both sides regardless of who won; House Vosaryk would rip itself apart. The guards at the walls started eyeing each other nervously, while Morin sized up Lord Vosaryk's bodyguard. Dustil tensed again; if it came to a brawl here he knew which side he'd be on.

"The Sluissi will know of your culpability - and not just the Sluissi - the other Houses, as well," Versenne said. "They will know that Hersig could not have acted alone in these acts of sabotage against House Khyrohn - and in conspiring against the government. They will not believe you had no knowledge of this invasion, and they will not believe you did not pave the way for it."

"Da," Versenne said, looking as though she were holding back tears through sheer force of will, "what you've done isn't honor, it's _treason_." Lord Vosaryk flinched. "The only way for us to salvage what's left of our honor would be to turn Hersig over to the Sluissi - and if you relinquish control of our House. If you do not, the Sluissi will destroy us and erase the very name of Vosaryk from the records. Our name, our people, our accomplishments - our dreams - will never have been.

"The choice is yours, Da. The fate of our House lies in your hands."

The wrinkles on Lord Vosaryk's lined face deepened with pain, and he closed his eyes; maybe he wished this wasn't happening. Vosaryk stood like a statue before opening his eyes; he looked around at his retainers, at his daughter, at Morin, and it was clear the decision weighed heavily on him.

With shaking hands, Lord Vosaryk reached up to his high collar and drew out a thick, heavy gold chain; Dustil saw a large medallion bearing the House seal. Vosaryk pulled it over his head, his eyes full of confusion, bewilderment and pain, moving as though he were in a bad dream. Everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breaths, including Dustil.

Versenne took the necklace with hands that shook as much as her father's, the medallion Dustil assumed proclaimed the bearer to be the Head of House Vosaryk, and pulled it on. Dustil let out the breath he'd been holding, and the tension in the room no longer choked him.

"You made the right choice, Da," Versenne said, "and I know how painful it was for you to make it."

"You were right, Senni," Lord Vosaryk finally managed to choke out. He glanced at Hersig. "This disaster wasn't the work of just one man - some of the blame is mine." Vosaryk drew himself up, gathering the tattered remnants of his dignity. "I will go down to our offices on the planet and sequester myself there, and get my affairs in order."

Versenne took her father's bodyguard aside, and Dustil just managed to overhear her saying, "Please, don't let Da do anything... anything foolish." The large man's impassive face cracked a little, and he nodded.

Morin detailed two of his guards to escort the former Head of House Vosaryk; the lord made no protest as he gathered his bodyguard and the rest of his entourage and swept out the door. The absence of Lord Vosaryk's force of personality created a vacuum; the room seemed larger and emptier now that he'd left. Dustil hadn't even noticed the ship captains come in earlier; now they were in a supportive huddle around Versenne.

"There's probably supposed to be a ceremony for the transfer of power," Dustil heard Revan whisper, "but under the circumstances -"

"It'll probably be postponed for a while," Dustil finished for her.

Dustil almost jumped a meter into the air when a shadow fell across him and heard his father say, "So, what happened? I thought old man Vosaryk would be here for sure."

"Where have you been?" Dustil hissed. "He got thrown out - Lady Versenne's in charge now. You missed all the excitement."

Revan put in her own two credits. "What happened? You look upset."

"With this disguise, I always look upset," Father said; Dustil rolled his eyes at him. "Anyway, are you trying to tell me the girl just staged a coup?"

Dustil was about to set his father straight when alarms began to sound. Father stiffened in his seat, eyes wide and staring, his face pale. The blood froze in Dustil's veins; those alarms sounded familiar.

"That's the invasion imminent alert," Father muttered. "Some unknown force must've gotten past the sensor forts." He tensed like a fell cat about to pounce, his eyes unfocused and his hands curled into tight fists; Dustil wondered what Father saw. Old memories - old failures?

Suddenly Father looked up and exchanged a meaningful glance at Dar Ges, standing near Versenne like everyone else. Dustil was baffled by the interchange; it was nothing like as friendly as it was before.

Lady Versenne was the first to recover. "Captain, take Hersig to the brig downside." She looked at the two guards Morin gestured forward to take charge of the prisoner in the eye. "I'm holding you both personally responsible for his safety." The two guards saluted; one sedated Hersig before they hauled him roughly away.

"I - we - need to get to Ops," Lady Versenne said. She moved towards the door.

Captain Morin moved like a snake to block her way. "Lady, it's not safe to remain here! We must get you downside to the safe -"

"Safe house?" Versenne finished. She didn't look angry, but the firm line of her mouth indicated her determination. "Captain, if we lose the skies, we lose everything. I won't be safe on the planet for long."

The captain looked like he wanted to disagree; Dustil almost felt sorry for him.

Versenne put a hand on Morin's arm. "The SVN will be busy fighting the invaders. We must guard their backs from Sayir."

Morin took a deep breath, then nodded, still looking very unhappy. No one needed to point out that, with Lord Vosaryk ousted, the only leadership left was Versenne. The captain bowed, deeper than usual.

Dustil swallowed; this Versenne wasn't the lady who'd danced with him. This Versenne was now Lady Vosaryk, all business. The change made Dustil a little uncomfortable, seeing how responsibility had settled like a palpable weight on her slim shoulders.

Ges moved up past the other captains, catching up to Versenne in a few long strides.

"Lady Ver - Lady Vosaryk, my friend Nasi here used to be in the wars," Ges said, gesturing at Father.

Dustil raised his eyebrows; after all the secrecy and concerns about hiding their true identities, Father was now breaking cover? Revan looked as surprised as he felt. _Guess Father didn't tell you, did he? Bet_ that's _ got your panties in a bunch._

Versenne turned her head to acknowledge Ges's words, but didn't slacken her pace.

"I see." Versenne turned to glance at Father, who contrived to look soldierly and experienced. "What were your experiences, Nasi?"

"I fought in the Mandalorian Wars and the, uh, recent Jedi Civil War, Lady," Father replied. "I participated in many engagements."

"It is true that, while we employ many former soldiers, not many were on the command track. Most were technical."

Dustil was impressed by her sure confidence; she seemed to know everyone who worked on the shipyard, and what their capabilities were. But she looked unconvinced of Father's expertise, and without solid proof, Dustil couldn't blame her for her skepticism.

"As much as I am grateful to you and Captain Kera'al - and Stiller, of course - I hesitate to place you, a near-stranger, in charge of the shipyard's defense. Even on Captain Ges's good word."

That didn't seem to daunt Father. "I understand, Lady, but I was thinking more of an, uh, advisory role."

"Captain Morin, what do you think of this idea?" Versenne asked. They had all crowded into a transport tube, guards and all. There didn't seem to be enough air to breathe, much less talk.

Morin frowned at Father. "I conducted the usual background check, of course, and he does have a great deal of experience." Father ducked his head in ironic acknowledgement. "I suppose at this late stage you've proven you're not an agent of House Sayir. I suspect we'll need all the help we can get."

_As long as we keep an eye on him_ was unspoken.

Ges shot Father a _See, I did it, we're even_ nod. The undercurrents in their exchanges puzzled Dustil; there had only been a shared camaraderie and affection when they'd met Ges, and now... well, there wasn't. Beside him, Dustil could see Revan was just as baffled. But there was no time nor space to talk to Father, because they had reached Operations.

The room they entered was more like a vast, circular cave. A transparisteel window stretched across and took up at least a quarter of the wall space. No, it wasn't a window, but a huge viewscreen. Parts of it changed to show the immediate space outside the shipyard, some showing empty space. Many simply showed static. Controls and consoles faced the huge screen in a semicircle, marching in ranks to the other walls. Sentients moved like agitated molecules between them, and the dull roar of their many conversations broke over Dustil like a wave.

An old iron-haired human turned and walked over to Versenne; his face was calm and impassive, but Dustil could feel the worry and relief radiating from him.

"Lady Ver- " the old man began, then when his eyes went to the medallion resting on her chest switched smoothly to "Lady Vosaryk, might I ask what has happened to Lord Vosaryk?"

"Chief Jopeth, my father recognizes that he is no longer capable of carrying out his duties," Versenne said. "He has ceded the responsibility to me. For now, we have much more pressing matters to attend to."

The chief's only reaction was the lifting of his gray brows, but Dustil could see questions crowding in his eyes.

"What's our status?" Versenne asked.

"We are currently in evacuation mode, Lady. All nonessential personnel, clients and vendors are in the process of being ferried down to the planet. All critical areas are in lockdown."

"Ah, yes, most of our facilities in the domes are still being used by guests who came to attend the Bazaar and Bazaar's End." Versenne nodded.

Dustil looked at the viewports, where the immediate space around the yard seemed to be full of ships of all shapes and sizes heading for the planet. Other habitats had smaller flocks of escaping vessels.

"And the status of the invasion?"

"We have had various garbled and incomplete reports." Jopeth consulted the stack of datapads in his hands. "But it would save time if I just showed you."

Dustil looked at the only clear area behind the consoles, near the door. He heard Father mutter, "Huh. Well I'll be damned - that's an old _Inexpugnable_ bridge." A large holo sprang into life from the empty spot.

"From what I can piece together from those reports, an extremely large-scale electromagnetic pulse emanating from some sort of platform took out the sensors of the outermost sentry forts. All outbound and inbound interstellar communications have been disrupted."

A ring of green dots in the holo blinked to red then to gray.

"The enemy took advantage of the information blackout and the resulting chaos, and began invading along the commercial corridors. The SVN has mobilized at the mouths, but they're too busy with that to help us with the situation in the capital. We're on our own if Sayir has ships behind the lines and decides to mobilize them against us. The planetary defenses are now online."

"What of our own ships, Chief?" Versenne asked as she peered at the holo.

"All wings onboard have assumed a screening position around the shipyard, and so have all the fighters from all the cargo freighters. We'll be ready for them if any enemy ships slip past the SVN."

The representation of the shipyard became covered by squadrons of fighter icons. The chief looked pleased with himself. Dustil began to relax. Maybe they'd live through this after all.

"Chief!" cried one of the crew, making Dustil jump. The burly old man swung towards the consoles. "Several squadrons of fighters incoming, approaching the shipyard."

"On what vector? Did they slip through the SVN?" the chief asked.

"Negative, sir, they're coming from the habitats." The crewman looked down at his screen. "They're comming us."

Lady Versenne nodded at the crewman. "Put them through."

The holo in the pit opened up several squares, showing several sentients in fighter suits, all with different House insignias on their collars.

"Lady Ve - ah, Lady Vosaryk," one of the older captains said, saluting, and stumbling over her name when he saw the necklace; he tried to recover his aplomb. "Where is Lord Vosaryk? Our Houses have bid us to tell him that we have not forgotten our old alliances, but..." His voice trailed off.

"My Father is... indisposed at the moment," Versenne said. "But please, do not let that keep you from your duty."

"Excuse me, Lady, I must confer with the others."

The screen blanked out, showing the House insignia. Lady Versenne gave it a worried glance. "Do you think they will help us, Captain?"

Morin snorted. "Do they have a choice, Lady? Our shipyard is the largest, with the most resources and weapons - they need us to protect their precious stations. Who else can they turn to? Besides, it's about time they remembered their contracts - the stipulations are very clear."

The fighter captain reappeared in the holo. "I beg your pardon, Lady, for the delay. Our House Heads have made it clear to us that we will stand with you and we will fight with you. We place ourselves at your command."

Versenne ignored Morin's knowing look, instead giving the captains a regal nod. "House Vosaryk appreciates your offer, and we would be honored. We gladly welcome your assistance."

Once the communications were cut, however, Morin turned to Versenne. "Are you certain they can be trusted, Lady?"

Versenne smiled. It was grim, but it was a smile. "I think the other Houses have seen the face of the future, Captain. and they want no part in it. The fright they took this morning must have galvanized them into remembering the old alliances. In a way, the attempted ransom attempt at the Conclave was a blessing. They can be trusted to cover themselves. Assign them a place in the screen, Chief."

The chief took that as his cue to send flight instructions to their new helpers, and soon more fighter icons circled around the shipyard in the holo.

Dustil watched the activity in the room begin to dwindle from a frantic roar to a more subdued businesslike hum. Every now and then, someone would raise their head from their work and glance at Versenne, standing tall and visible at the control station, and look away, relieved.

"She knows everyone would panic if she didn't show up here and keep it together," Father murmured. "As long as she stands there looking cool and calm, the entire crew will stand fast. Everyone will."

By this time, Father was leaning against an unoccupied console, his face streaked with dried blood and gray with exhaustion. Now that the excitement was over, even Dustil was feeling tired. Versenne, on the other hand, looked fresh from the boardroom.

As though summoned by his thoughts, Versenne turned her attention from the holo to Dustil, her eyes sweeping over Revan and Father behind him. She murmured to Bekim, who'd followed quietly in his chair, and a few minutes later, a gleaming medical droid entered. Father had his injuries seen to and bandaged properly, and some seats were made for them by pushing empty chairs together.

Father scratched his forehead, trying to get at an itch under the bandage, and munched a savory from a plate Bekim had placed near them. He looked a lot better now that his blackened eye was fixed and the burns were removed. "Looks like it'll take several hours or more before anything significant will happen. All the action's at the front." He shrugged. "I expected as much."

Dustil sat next to him. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"No." Father shook his head. "One ship more or less won't really matter. Might even make things worse. No, anything we can do will be done here." He gestured at the holo.

"Like what?"

Father made a vague wave. "Oh, I dunno, we'll see. Something'll come up. Something always does." He glanced at the group clustered at the main console, then leaned towards Dustil and Revan. "Look, we need to talk about our options."

"Do we have any?" Dustil asked, jerking his chin at the screens of data listing the enemy ships clashing with the SVN.

"Sure we do." Father sighed and ran a hand through his increasingly tousled hair. "There are always choices if you know where to look." He took a deep breath. "But look, you don't _have_ to stay here. The Sith'll be too busy with the SVN to notice one small freighter." Father leaned towards Dustil, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You can take the _Hawk_ and leave. She can outrun anything the Sith have."

"What's with this 'you' stuff?" Dustil muttered. "Forget it. I'm not going."

"This isn't your fight, dammit."

Dustil gave this the scornful sneer it deserved. "It's not yours either, remember? You're retired."

Father grinned. "Old habits die hard." He sobered. "I can't leave these people when I know I can help them. If I turn my back on them now, I'll never be able to look myself in the face again." He glanced at Revan.

"There was never any doubt, was there." Revan smiled.

_This is crazy. She's crazy - so is Father - it's gotta be catching. And now I'm crazy, too!_

_Live, boy, and fight again another day,_ whispered Ban. Or maybe it was the voice of Jorak Uln. _Leave the weaklings to die or be ruled by their betters. That is the Sith way. And it's even what your dear old man wants you to do._

_Run, little boy! Run!_ The demented cackle echoed in Dustil's mind.

Dustil squared his jaw. _I'm not a little boy anymore._ He folded his arms and directed a mulish glare at his father. "I'm staying."

Father glared back, but the frustration was tempered a little with pride.

"Uh... so, how're we supposed to be able to help, anyway?" Dustil asked, knowing the question undermined the confidence with which he'd spoken. "Just... just how bad is it gonna be?"

"The defenses around Sluis Van look pretty substantial," Father replied, "when we flew past them a few days ago."

A few days ago? It felt more like a million days ago.

"The outer ring is what's been compromised," Father continued, "but the Sluissi still have two more rings to fall back on. Here, we're protected by the innermost string of orbital weapons platforms. The only problem I can see is that some of the stations and the other shipyards are outside of the area they cover. But it looks like all the habitats are inside."

That was not exactly a relief. Was the Vosaryk shipyard inside or outside the defenses? Too late to get cold feet now.

"Anyway, we'll have to see what happens," Father answered, sipping at a cup of hot caffa.

Dustil directed a suspicious glance at his father. "There's something you're not telling us, isn't there?" he started to ask, but Father choked on his caffa, and Dustil had to pound on his back.

"Silam?!" Father choked out, jumping up to confront a short sentient who'd just walked into the room. The Sullustan halted, startled by Father's outburst. "Silam, what the hell're you doing here?"

"Er," the Sullustan stammered. "Er, Silam not know you." He looked around, trying to find an escape.

"Oh, uh... yeah. Uh... someone named Tav Tagar told me about you," Father mumbled.

The Sullustan relaxed a little. "Oh, Tav Tagar friend of Silam."

"Uh, so what're you doing here, Silam? I thought you were still with House Boro, um, last time I looked." Father looked very guilty.

The Sullustan looked ready to spit. "House Boro fire Silam! They say, was spy in House Boro, they look but not find spy, they say spy leave from Silam's garage! Like Silam look like Silam strong enough to catch spy! Silam no catch spy, so Silam fired."

"Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that," Father said. The guilty look on his face deepened until he looked very hangdog.

Dustil traded a puzzled look with Revan. She shrugged and shook her head when he mouthed, "What's going on?" at her.

Silam didn't seem to notice. "Is okay." He shrugged. "House Vosaryk hiring, hired Silam first go. Silam work on starships soon!"

"Well, congratulations, Silam. I'll, uh, I'll be sure to tell Tav the good news. But why're you in here now? I thought you would've been evacuated down to the planet."

Silam put down his toolbox and waved his arms enthusiastically. If he was worried about the invasion, there was no sign of it. "Silam not believe it, but Silam's new tibanna gas propulsion system online here! Silam need to be here to keep it running smooth!" The Sullustan chortled at his good fortune.

"Really? What's it running?"

"The shipyard train system. Is independent power source for when if shipyard power out." Silam straightened his harness and picked up his tool box. "Silam must go now. Busy busy."

Dustil watched the Sullustan waddle away. "Interesting people you meet, Father. Or should I say, Tav Tagar?" he commented. "Wonder why you never mentioned him."

Father coughed. "There wasn't any time. And besides, none of it was relevant to our mission."

"Was he the one who gave you the hickey?" Revan asked.

"No!" Father spluttered.

Revan smiled. "It's all right, I thought he was quite cute." Father gave this comment the dubious look it deserved.

"So what's this tibanna gas system he talked about?" Dustil asked to chase out the horrific mental images. "It sounds really dangerous."

Father looked relieved at the change of subject. "I guess it works just like it sounds. As power sources go, it does seem to be on the volatile side, but I suppose if it's contained it does the job. One battery would be enough to power a train for quite a few years. Maybe even a century."

"How is the battle going?" Dustil heard Versenne ask, now that her own House had been set in order.

According to his chrono, it had taken several hours for her to tie up loose ends, but to Dustil, they had passed like years. The rest, at least, had given his father new energy, and he was now scanning the data in the 'wishing well' holo, as Father called it, with renewed interest.

"The SVN seems to be holding its own, Lady," the chief replied.

Dustil pointed to a dull brown area in the holo. "Why aren't they coming through there?"

"Asteroid field, remember? We took the ship out there to try out the new cannons," Father answered. "It's much too dense - not to mention dangerous - for ships larger than a fighter to get through. And it'd take fighters too longer to get through to mount any kind of a real surprise attack."

Lady Versenne put in, "We have ore and mineral processing stations inside the asteroid field, as well, who will alert us if any invaders attempt to come through that way."

"Have you evacuated those stations yet, Lady?" Revan asked. "If those asteroids contain any volatile chemicals, it might be dangerous for them if any stray shots come their way."

Smiling, Versenne replied, "The station personnel have long since been evacuated, but there are still small, independent claims scattered deep inside who work the trace amounts of precious gems and rare metals. Those intrepid miners are much too stubborn to abandon their stakes. We have no authority to move them forcibly, and dangerous, besides. They have their own defenses."

Father grunted. "I've met independent miners before; they're a breed of rough, tough sentients. You wouldn't be able to pry them out against their will with a capital ship tractor beam. I almost feel sorry for any stray fighters who manage to stumble into them."

In the wishing well, green and red emblems clashed. To Dustil's inexperienced eyes, it looked like a stalemate. In their own space, the SVN was vastly more knowledgeable and informed, experienced with working as a unit than the Sith, even with the latter's jamming. The Sith fleet was more numerous, but even their numbers were slowly being whittled down. The whispered conversations between Revan and his father said as much. With the planet's resources backing them, the SVN could fight longer, and would eventually overcome the Sith, who had to be at the end of their supply line. Only the sheer surprise of their attack had enabled them to get this far.

_So why aren't they retreating?_

"Lady! Lady Versenne!" A crewman's frantic cry made Dustil jerk.

Versenne did not waste time correcting the crewman's address. "What is it, Jor?" she asked, her query simultaneous with the chief's.

"It's the planetary orbitals, Lady, Chief," the crewman said, his eyes bulging with disbelief. "They're realigning!"

"Did the invaders break through somewhere?" the chief muttered.

Dustil's eyes went to the wishing well, frantically searching for the breach.

"That's just it, Lady - they're not orienting on any invaders - _they're aiming at the habitats!_"

"No," Versenne breathed as she stared at the holo.

"There are thousands of sentients still on those habitats," Revan choked out. Father's only response was a harsh intake of breath.

_This_ was the Sith fleet's golden pazaak card, finally placed on the table. This was why they hadn't retreated. Somehow, the Sith or Sayir had managed to slice into the orbitals' control systems, using them as a last ditch resort to force the SVN to surrender or split their attentions. Thousands of hostages - and the Sith would have to destroy some of them to make an example.

Thousands of those sentients were going to die.

And there was nothing they could do.

* * *

With thanks to Prisoner 24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback.


	67. Sacrifices

**Chapter 67: Sacrifices**

A clamor of voices asking for guidance and commands erupted from the wishing well.

Carth was hard put not to ask, _Orders, sir?_ himself as he watched the ponderous orbital platforms, the last line of Sluis Van's defense against invaders, turn their massive cannons from open space towards the habitats.

The habitats, hanging like jeweled eggs in space, a string of pearls adorning the brown planet, had no defenses of their own, only the thick transparisteel domes that generated a breathable environment. The orbitals were more than capable of blasting holes into those domes, letting out precious oxygen and decompressing the air inside. Those trapped outside of buildings would die by the thousands from asphyxia. And even those sheltering behind blast doors would die hours later as their air was used up, or from hunger or thirst when no relief came from the SVN. There could be riots over resources.

Even the refugees who had been evacuated to the planet would reach dubious shelter. The hydroponics farms that grew enough food to feed the system's population would be outside of their reach; the underground food facilities would soon run out, overwhelmed by the influx of new mouths.

If they didn't beat back the Sith quickly, they would soon be able to take whole habitats hostage.

But first they had to stop those orbitals.

"All squadrons, separate into three-man wings," Carth heard Lady Versenne command. "Converge on those orbitals and try to destroy them."

"Those orbitals have thick armor and powerful energy shields, Lady," Chief Jopeth said. "Their weapons may be too light to penetrate their defenses."

"That's why I ordered three-man groups. If they all fired at once, at a single point, they might be able to disrupt their stabilizers," Versenne said. "All wings, I am sending a schematic of an orbital - fire at the target I have selected."

"Those orbitals were modified somehow," Morin muttered. "I hope the modifications don't extend to covering that vulnerability."

The girl looked at the captain. "I hope so as well, Captain."

Carth stared at the holo in the wishing well. It wasn't enough just to destroy the orbitals, if they even could. Without the orbitals, there was nothing that could stop the Sith from sending fighters and cruisers to threaten the habitats. Lady Versenne, for all her boldness, didn't see the whole picture yet. Well, she wasn't exactly trained for it.

_But you are, Onasi. Now think of a way to turn this around._

Meanwhile, the three-man groups had reached their targets, but their weapons didn't seem to be denting the orbitals' defenses; not surprising, since they were built to withstand the powerful cannons on capital ships.

"Lady, we can't seem to break through. Can the anti-aircraft guns on the shipyard help us?" called one of the fighter pilots.

"I'm sorry, but our guns don't have the range," Versenne replied. She turned a face that was starting to crack with stress to the chief. "What about the cannons on the cargo ships, Chief?"

"They have the same weight of fire as the fighters, Lady. I'm sorry. They're meant to stop pirates, not warships."

"Lady, weapons lock detected on Hes Dome," a crewman called out.

The lady went pale. "Already?" She scanned her console in an attempt to find a solution. The Chief and Morin copied her.

Then a voice from the holo made them all freeze.

"There's nothing for it, then," a wingleader said, one of the captains from the other Houses. Carth's eyes went to a fighter moving away and out of position. Was the man turning tail and trying to run?

"Captain Sedrik, what -" Versenne began.

The fighter opened up on the throttle, the exhaust from its boosters burning bright against the blackness of space. Accelerating from his confused wingmen, it pulled a hairpin turn and shot back in, towards their assigned orbital. The comm was full of queries for information and orders, but the wingleader ignored them all.

"Remember me to Lady Serenar, Lady Vosaryk," the captain said, saluting.

Then he rammed his fighter into the orbital. The view in the holo turned to static as the sensors were overloaded. Carth blinked in reflex, not quite believing what he just saw. Then he realized the whole room was silent.

In the holo, the view cleared; no one talked or scarcely breathed. All faces had turned away from their consoles to the huge viewscreen.

The orbital the fighter had rammed into was listing visibly, its stabilizers damaged. But its cannons were still moving, still trying to fix a lock on Hes Dome. The other two fighters began firing a continuous stream at the vulnerable spot, and soon the orbital began to tumble out of control.

Carth's head turned back to the holo, where the other fighters began to imitate the first captain's maneuver. The voices on the comm babbled in confusion, wingleaders ordering their wingmen to stop, wingmen arguing with wingleaders. Versenne and the chief also tried to stop the suicide attacks, at turns wheedling and threatening, but to no avail. It reminded him of the more crazy swoop riders, the ones that would take crazy hairpin turns at reckless speeds to make a better time. Swoop racing was one of the most popular sports on the Outer Rim, and it looked like it had infected the pilots.

"They're brave bastards, I'll give 'em that," Carth said, as one by one, orbitals went down under the kamikaze attacks.

"Remember their names, Chief," Versenne whispered, awed by their sacrifices. "I must provide for their families."

The numbers of fighters dwindled as each orbital fell into the planet's gravity well. Some were taken down by dying orbital defensive fire, others caught in the explosions, their fragile craft breaking up from the shockwaves. Still they flew into the teeth of the orbitals' fire, until there were streams of smoke and light as platforms tumbled out of their orbits and plunged into the planet below. The skins of their sides grew red, then white hot as they burned through the first layer of the stratosphere, giant comets with melting armor plating and instruments.

"Shouldn't we warn the planet of impending impacts?" Carth asked.

"They already know. In any case, all habitations on the planet are well underground. They may lose some instruments and sensors, but the cities won't be devastated," Morin replied.

"Lady, we've lost well over half of our screen," Chief Jopeth said. "There are some small fighters and corvettes that took advantage of the distraction and moved around the SVN's flank -"

"And without our orbital platforms, we cannot fend them off," Versenne said, coming to the same conclusion.

"Do you think they'll fire on us?" Dustil whispered.

Carth shook his head, but Revan answered first. "I don't think they will. They only tried that trick with the orbitals when the battle began to stalemate. You'll notice they didn't turn them on the shipyards and hydroponics, just the habitats."

"They're going to have to repair, refuel, and lick their wounds when this is over," Carth added. "They can't do that if they destroy the yards and refueling stations, and they can't feed the troops if the farms aren't working. No, but I think they're gonna try boarding actions."

His comment made Dustil sit up straight, alarmed. "Here, too?" he asked, hand going to a weapon.

"Maybe," Carth said. "A shipyard is particularly vulnerable, with all these docking bays and open slips." He was reminded of ships destroyed by Sith who had bypassed their scanners, thanks to Saul. But this time, at least, they could fight back, and give as good as they got. Saul was dead, and there were probably no more Sith officers of his caliber still alive.

Dustil looked around, giving the room an uncertain glance. Carth turned his attention back to the flurry of activity around Versenne; it looked like someone else had reached the same conclusion.

"Recall all personnel to the inner control rooms," the chief was saying.

Versenne nodded. "Close all blast doors and lock them down. Have the workers jam or destroy the controls as they retreat. There is no sense in leaving the doors open for them to waltz in. As each team comes in, turn off the grav generators for each section, and pump out the air. Let them come in bulky environment suits. And have our best gunners in the anti-aircraft turrets."

The chief and captain hunched over their consoles, snapping orders rapidfire into their comms. The room began to hum again after the silence.

Again, Carth had the feeling of being the odd man out. He felt he should either be the one giving orders, or the one carrying them out. Not be a helpless, out-of-the-loop bystander, sitting on the sidelines. An outsider.

_Admit it, Onasi. You hate letting other people fight for you._

Feeling an odd frustration, Carth turned away, back to Dustil and Revan. _Concentrate, Onasi, there must be something you can do._ He watched the holo.

Enemy light cruisers and fighters were starting to break through from the distant lights and explosions. Red icons began to approach in the wishing well. The numbers didn't look good. Their screen, once substantial, had now become tattered. Squadrons of fighters still circled the shipyard, but to Carth it looked thin and weak.

_We're a pretty tempting target. Sooner or later, they're gonna want to take a bite._

Just a few days ago, that space had been full of ships being built, repaired, modified or refitted, tractor beams gently maneuvering them into the slips -

_Wait. Tractor beams._ Carth's eyes widened. He didn't realize he'd said the words out loud until Dustil repeated them.

"Tractor beams?" Dustil echoed, perplexed. Over his shoulder, Carth saw Versenne look up.

"Yeah! Look, tractor beams can grab onto something, but if you reverse it, you can use it to repel, too!" Carth explained, using his hands to demonstrate. He looked over at Versenne. "What do you think, Lady?"

Versenne called to her harrassed chief. "Chief, do you think it feasible? It is true we have more tractor beam projectors than turrets."

Jopeth consulted his instruments. "I think I can set up a program that will operate the beams automatically, Lady."

"Do so, Chief." Versenne turned back to Carth. "Thank you for that excellent suggestion."

"No problem." Carth caught the disgruntled look on Dustil's face. "What?"

"Nothin'."

_You could've told me so that I could impress her, Father._ Dustil didn't actually say the words, but his sentiments showed clearly in his frown.

Carth mumbled, "Sorry," and turned away so that Dustil couldn't see his smile.

In the holo, Carth could see that the chief had rapidly implemented his plan. Normally, a sentient operator would use a tractor beam like a giant set of forceps to grip the ship and nestle it into its slip; there was a great deal of pride in having the lightest hand so that there was never even a scratch caused in the process. It looked like the chief had programmed the beams to be operated in direct reverse.

An unsuspecting fighter dove in preparation to strafe at the anti-aircraft turrets, but something invisible swatted it just as it was about to let loose. It tumbled out of control, but before it could recover, a volley of missiles ripped it apart.

The chief said nothing, but Carth thought he could detect a gleam of grim triumph in his eyes as he went about the business of damage control.

Carth's eyes kept going to the screens showing the freighter captains, each with his or her own panel in the wishing well. To Dar, especially. If the yard had a weak link, it was Dar. If Dar chose to stick with the Sith, he could do a tremendous amount of damage. But by the tight lips and scowl of concentration on his face, Dar wasn't going to break. The Sith had just tried to kill his family using those orbitals. His wife and two kids would've suffered, no matter if the Sith knew Dar was on their side.

_Remember that_, Carth thought at Dar's image.

"Lady, they're comming us," Jopeth said.

Versenne raised her brows. "Let's see what they have to say, then."

"Repeat, surrender. Lay down your arms, power down your shields and open your docking bay doors," someone said over the comm; there was no visual. "No one will be harmed if you surrender peacably. Resist and we will be forced to use deadly weapons. Repeat, surrender -"

The unknown voice was silenced mid-sentence when Versenne cut the signal. "Yes, I see it is the usual message, Chief. Carry on." Her bland smile dared anyone to panic.

"We have incoming," a crewman announced.

"Shields are at maximum power - brace for impact, everyone," the chief called. "Fighters stand by to intercept."

Laser fire erupted on the screen aimed enemy fighters, leaving afterimages in Carth's eyes. The yard's screen of fighters broke off, scattering and converging. The Sith formation also broke apart, separating into groups.

"We need more fighters," Versenne said as she wrapped her hands on a wall grip. The station began to shake as shots impacted on several decks.

"Decks one and forty-five have sustained breaches -"

" - wounded on decks thirty-two, we need a medic down here -"

" - power outage at section six, it's gonna need a tech -"

"Damage control teams Two, Six and Forty-Nine, please report to -"

Carth let the disjointed chatter wash over him. It was all quite familiar - except for the fact that he was sitting on his ass and not doing anything about it.

The huge, ponderous freighters were doing their best to help, but they were hopelessly slow and ungainly compared to the tiny, agile fighters and the larger cruisers. The fighters ignored the freighters to concentrate on the yard. Versenne fielded the calls for help like a professional, but Carth could tell that every shot fired was like a physical blow to her.

"Enough of this - we'll be overwhelmed in a short time unless we have reinforcements -" Versenne began, but a shout from Morin distracted her.

"Lady, we have a wounded man in one of the outer docking bays. We haven't cut off the power and air there yet, but we can't send help, either - one of the bulkheads have collapsed and it would take hours to cut a passage to him."

The anguished look on Versenne's face earned her all of Carth's sympathies. It was a command decision if ever there was one: choosing who would live, and who would die.

"Lady?" Morin asked, when Versenne didn't answer. "What are your orders?"

Versenne gulped a breath. "Shut off the power and decompress the bay. It will... it will at least be quick. And make sure you remember his name. I must make amends to his family."

"Yes, of course, Lady." Morin bent to his unpleasant task.

"Chief," Versenne commanded.

Chief Jopeth looked up, his former calm reduced to harassed worry. "Yes, Lady?"

"Open a comm to House Khyrohn. I wish to speak to Lord Khyrohn."

The chief gaped, thunderstruck. "To... Lord Khyrohn? But -"

Dustil stared at Versenne, then at Carth. "What's she doing? I thought Vosaryk and Khyrohn were, like, mortal enemies or something."

Carth was just as shocked. "Yeah, that's what I thought, too."

"I know!" Revan cried. She leaned forward. "Dustil, remember that time we overheard her and her father arguing?"

"You mean... you mean that bit about House Khyrohn starting to develop ships of their own?" Dustil said.

Despite his shock, the chief had managed to speak to a low-ranking lackey at House Khyrohn, who was proving to be mulish about interrupting her lord with the message. In light of the animosity between the two Houses, Carth couldn't really blame her. Lady Versenne took over.

"I am sure Lord Khyrohn will take some time out of his busy schedule to speak to the Head of House Vosaryk. I have a proposition for him," Versenne said, making sure the camera showed the seal around her neck.

The servant's eyes widened at the sight of the seal, and she began to utter obsequious apologies. "I beg your pardon, Lady Vosaryk. I will put you through to him immediately."

It didn't take long for Lord Khyrohn's face to appear in the holo; the same elegant young man Carth had seen at Bazaar's End; Carth glanced aside at his son, noting the jealous scowl. Khyrohn stood in a similar room; Carth could just make out screens and consoles behind the young lord.

"Lady Vosaryk," Khyrohn said, as politely as if he were still at the party. Only the hum of noise in the background and the slightly frazzled look on the lord's face gave a hint to the very different situation. Khyrohn's eyes were drawn to Versenne's necklace.

"Should I extend my condolences to you with regards to your father?" Khyrohn continued. "He seemed quite well enough at the Conclave." The ironic smile on his face showed he was not ignorant of Lord Vosaryk's agenda. "Incidentally, I suppose I should thank you for the rescue this morning."

"No thanks are necessary, Lord Khyrohn," Versenne said. "My father realized he was no longer able to carry on his duties after the exertions of this morning, and for now has decided to retire to our offices on the planet."

Khyrohn raised a skeptical eyebrow, but his eyes darted to something off-screen and he decided to cut the pleasantries short.

_Thank the Force, I thought they'd never stop talking._ Carth sighed. _This is why civilians shouldn't try to fight, they get too caught up in irrelevant nonsense._ He was itching to tell them to stop messing around and get on with the real business. _Calm down, Onasi. You're not the one running this show._

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this call, Lady? There are urgent matters I should be attending to," Khyrohn was saying.

Versenne took a fortifying breath and said, "Lord Khyrohn, I understand your House has been researching starfighters for some time, and this year you've actually built a few squadrons for demonstrations."

Khyrohn looked stunned. "How did you - the projects had been conducted in absolute secrecy -"

"Actually, my father had heard rumors, my lord. But it was only recently that I confirmed those rumors." Versenne smiled sweetly.

Comprehension dawned; the young lord wasn't slow. "That break-in the other night - that was _your_ doing, wasn't it?" Khyrohn demanded.

Versenne continued to smile, neither confirming nor denying. Carth was surprised to see that Khyrohn wasn't angry; the young lord looked more impressed than anything else. Khyrohn burst out laughing.

"I applaud your audacity, Lady! All this time I thought you were the cautious, timid type compared to your father's blustering, but I see now I overlooked your subtlety." Khyrohn leaned forward. "Tell me, Lady... are they for hire?"

"Who?" Versenne seemed taken aback.

"The ones who conducted that brilliant raid, Lady. Are they for hire?"

Versenne darted an involuntary glance at Dustil. "I'm afraid I still have them on retainer, Lord Khyrohn."

"Ah, that's too bad." Khyrohn sat back, but a speculative gleam still glittered in his eyes. "I know just the job for them," he added dryly. "But I digress. What did you want?"

"Lord Khyrohn, to return to the original subject - I would like to borrow your fighters."

Khyrohn's eyes widened. "You want to borrow - all of them?"

"All of them, yes, if possible. You have trained pilots, I hope?"

"And why should I be willing to _lend_ them to you?" Khyrohn's eyes narrowed.

The dangerous glint in the lord's eyes didn't daunt Versenne. "I do have a certain amount of information in my hands that I do not think you'd like me to have aired in public." She seemed to be in her element and enjoying it.

The young man's face went pale. "Blackmail, Lady Vosaryk?" he said faintly.

"'Blackmail' is such a crude word," Versenne crooned.

Khyrohn, knowing he was beaten, squared his shoulders, taking the blow like a man. "Very well. But I need some sort of assurance for compensation for any damages."

Carth glanced at Dustil while the two nobles negotiated the collateral; his son was gazing at Versenne with worshipful admiration.

"She's really something, isn't she?" Dustil whispered in a kind of awe. At least his tongue wasn't hanging out.

"Yeah. Yeah, she really is," Carth agreed. Anyone else would be breaking under the pressure after being handed a shipyard under fire, but Versenne was soldiering on calmly and professionally; not only that, but her serene leadership kept everyone around her calm enough to concentrate on their work.

"What do you think she's planning to do with those fighters?" Revan whispered.

"I dunno." Carth looked at the holos hovering around Versenne and in the wishing well. Most of them showed views of the huge cargo freighters. He had an inkling of an idea of what she planned, but it was too fuzzy for him to grasp it.

"I want all of our cargo freighters to start heading towards the habitats," Versenne said. "We'll stuff as many fighters as we can into the freighter bays, and the rest can hide in their capacious sensor shadows."

"A distraction, Lady?" The chief frowned. "For what purpose?"

"My thought was, if we prove to be too painful for them to swallow, they might direct their attentions elsewhere," Versenne replied.

Morin's brow wrinkled. "But, Lady, that would mean they'd turn to the habitats and the other stations. It would be rather rough on them." Versenne looked uncertain, but then the chief spoke.

"They no longer have the orbitals to help them, Lady. I'm not sure fighters by themselves can take over anything, especially the habitats. They can't fit entire cruisers into the airlocks."

"The fighters would fit," Morin said. "They could do an enormous amount of damage once inside."

"It would take time for them to enter, but, hm, then again they might have Sayir agents ready to open them," the chief said. "If their fighters are too busy in the habitats, that would mean the capital ships have no screens, or very thin ones."

"That may be a dangerous assumption, Chief," Morin retorted. "The SVN cannot afford to ignore their transgressions, they would have to divert ships back to the habitats, and that could be a costly - if not fatal - mistake."

Carth wondered if any of those reports Admiral Dodonna insisted he send regularly had been read by sentient eyes, or if they were just sitting buried on some nameless bureaucrat's desk even now. Or worse, still in the mail queue.

And even if someone _had_ read them, it wouldn't do any good now; by the time anyone had thought to send help, the battle would be over, one way or another. Why would anyone send help, anyway, based on a few rumors and unusual activity in Sluis Van? Carth rested his chin on a fist and gazed into his caffa glumly. The Fleet was stretched thin now; there was no guarantee the Admiral had anyone to send even if she knew of the impending invasion.

_A fat lot of good you're doing here, Onasi. All that talk about advising these people is so much empty thruster fumes._

A horrendous crash shook the shipyard while he was immersed in his self-pity; his mug went flying and the caffa splashed out. Dustil and Revan were knocked out of their seats, and Morin only just managed to keep Bekim from hurling out of his float chair. The lights flickered, then steadied.

"Are you two all right?" Carth gasped; some of that hot caffa had spilled on his leg. They both uttered shaken _yeahs_.

"Damage report!" Versenne snapped. The console in front of her threw red highlights on her face. When there was no answer, she wrenched her eyes to her chief, who was lying in a heap on the floor. "Chief!"

Carth moved over and felt the old man's pulse; blood ran from a dent in the chief's skull. "He's alive, Lady, but he's taken a mighty blow to the head," he said, looking up at Versenne and Morin. Morin called for a medic on the comm.

_Now's your chance, Onasi._ Carth stood and stepped up to the familiar bridge. The readouts and displays were exactly the same as they had been in the _Courageous_ he'd once been the pilot for.

"It looks like a fighter got knocked into one of the shield generators, Lady," Carth called out. "The engines exploded, and it's caused a power cascade. Generator power's dropped down to seventy percent, but the auxiliary generators are still online and functioning."

Versenne and Morin stared at Carth like he'd grown three heads. Carth repressed a smirk.

A couple of gleaming medical droids arrived and quickly placed the still-unconscious chief on a repulsorlift pallet. Versenne watched on, then looked out at the vast room, where every single sentient seemed to be juggling three or four jobs simultaneously. It was clear there was no one else she could designate to take over. She exchanged a significant glance with Morin.

"He did say he has experience," Morin said uncertainly.

"Well, then I suppose we won't need to find a replacement," Versenne said. Her smile looked a bit desperate. "Carry on, then, Nasi."

Carth didn't miss the flash of uncertainty in her eyes. "I'll do my best." Dustil shot Carth another disgruntled look, while Revan gave him an encouraging thumbs-up.

_All right, Onasi. You're finally up here - what're you gonna do?_

First they had to break through the jamming and get a message out immediately. No, the first thing they had to do was get accurate intelligence somehow. They couldn't just go out blind. Carth looked around idly as he thought, when his eyes fell on a pile of spare circuit boards Silam had left piled on someone's desk. Inspiration struck like a well-aimed torpedo.

"Lady, don't you have jobs where you've got to replace instruments and sensors?" Carth asked.

Versenne looked up. "Well, yes."

"Do you have a good amount of sensors stockpiled, then?" Carth persisted.

After checking her console, Versenne looked up and nodded. "Yes, we do, but why do you ask?"

"We can make a mine field, depending on the amount of materials you've got!" Carth said. "You use the sensors to detect any nearby ships and detonate them."

"But what are we going to use as the explosive?" Morin asked.

Carth spread his arms wide. "Ship fuel," he answered. "And haven't you got plenty on a shipyard?'

Versenne's eyes lit up. "Yes - the containers themselves can act as a shell, and we have plenty of scrap metal - we can use that as shrapnel."

"It's not even going to dent the armor of a capital ship - not even if a whole chain of them went off," Carth warned. "But if we can lure enough of their fighters into the trap, we could destroy their scouts."

"We could use a cargo freighter to transport and deploy them," Morin said, catching on, "but, how do we lure them in?"

Carth scratched his chin as he looked over the holos. "What if... what if we pretend there are some rich lords trying to escape the turmoil in another freighter? With all their wealth and goods?"

Versenne looked scandalized. "No House lords would be so cowardly -"

"No, Lady, I understand what he means." Morin was so excited he interrupted his boss; Carth had been impressed with the man's devotion and loyalty, but there was no doubt the captain was having a bit of fun at the nobility's expense. Maybe it was the stress. "We would certainly never countenance such a thing, but the enemy won't know any better."

"Hm, yes, I see." Versenne looked thoughtful. "We could use one of the cargo freighters -"

"I was thinking something like the yacht you've got in your shipyard -" Carth began.

"No, no, it's much too small." Versenne shook her head. "We must have something ostentatious and grand, something the enemy would positively salivate after. A huge, slow, tempting target, all of its many cargo bays absolutely stuffed to the decks with all manner of riches these imaginary lords could haul away. They won't be able to resist, they must be desperate for such things."

"We could even have some convincing chatter on the comms," Morin put in, a twitch starting at the corners of his lips, "calling them all sorts of names for running away. It could be quite a show of thespian talent."

Well, that still left the capital ships in business, a not insignificant problem. Still, they had to discourage the raids and probing attacks on the yard, the stations and the habitats; the big warships had yet to get past the SVN.

Versenne had some of the crew working on reprogramming the shipyard and construction droids, setting them to work on assembling the mines. They weren't going to be the most sophisticated of ship killers, but hopefully it'd get the job done.

Carth was dismayed to discover that Dar's ship, the _Serendipity_, was going to be the decoy. It would be easy enough for Dar to make a real getaway, not just a fake one.

But that still left his wife and kids in the middle of a battle, Carth reminded himself. No, Dar wouldn't leave them. Carth tried to beat his doubts back down, but they kept floating back up.

One of the other freighters took charge of the delicate task of demolitions and set about seeding the space where the orbitals had been with the mines. Versenne negotiated with her allies and other shipyards to making the same; at times she reminded Carth of a battlefield commander, the way she handled talks with ten different people at once.

_This had better work_, Carth thought. Or he was digging a really, really deep hole of debt for Versenne to fall into. Then again, if this didn't work, they were all probably going to die.

He wondered if there was any point in revealing his true identity at this point. It might boost their morale to see a familiar Republican face, little though he wanted to admit it. _Because it's fracking ridiculous to think they'd listen to me, even if I really am Carth Onasi._ The planets on the Outer Rim prided themselves on their independence, regardless of who they leaned towards in the political arena. They probably wouldn't listen to him even if he declared himself to be the Supreme Chancellor. They'd be pretty angry about the lies, and they might be suspicious enough to throw him in the brig just for that. No, he had to go on just as he was, limited though that might be.

Carth turned back to the holo. It was a start, but it still wasn't enough; the habitats were still too vulnerable. The tractor beams had done their job, no more fighters bothered them now. It was time to come up with another plan. Carth drummed his fingers on the console, considering the disparate elements. His eyes kept going to that dull brown blotch. That asteroid field contained possibilities; he just had to find them.

"Lady, you said you had ore processing stations in the asteroid field, right?" Carth asked.

Versenne did not look up from the current round of negotiations. "That is correct, Lady Serenar - yes, Nasi - now, Lord Bernaday, I assure you -"

Morin looked at the data in Carth's holo. "What are you thinking of?"

"I was thinking - if we can throw a lot of radioactive and chemical junk out into the middle of their vector of approach, we could use that cloud to mask the trajectory of our own fighters. It would take a long time for the rocks and debris to get to the right spot on plain old momentum, but if we time it right, we'd have another distraction with a helluva punch behind it."

Morin looked dubious. "It's a great deal to ask of automated systems we must access remotely. It would also play havoc with our own fighters." Despite his doubts, he began tapping at keys.

"Our fighters will know where and what their targets are; the enemy won't even suspect there's anything behind the junk." Carth consulted his own console. "And what about those indie miners?"

Morin snorted. "What about them? Trying to order them is like trying to herd fell cats, and I think I'd rather have the cats."

"They might help with the right motivation," Carth rubbed his fingers together in the age-old gesture for money. "They'd probably know the best spots for the really nasty stuff."

Morin tapped keys, running and rerunning calculations and simulations. Carth was too busy taking care of damage control to be offended.

"It's going to be a right mess to clean up," Morin commented.

"So you're gonna do it, then," Carth said, looking up from his readouts.

Morin nodded. "I think it is feasible." He looked at the feeble-looking dike of homemade mines being constructed and placed. "I just hope it's enough," he added as he began the process of controlling the ore processing droids.

_Yeah, me, too._

A new message blinked, asking for urgent attention. Carth took the call. "Ops," he said, most of his attention focused on the trouble spots on the yard schematics.

"There's something funny I found on t' trains, Chief." Whoever it was didn't know Carth was just a substitute.

"What's funny about it?" Carth asked. If he could shift half of Damage Control Team Sixty-Eight to deck Aurek-21, then they could handle the coolant leak while the other half took care of -

The train of thought came to a screeching halt when Carth heard the gruff sentient say, "Well, there's a timer on one of them power packs."

Carth's eyes widened and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. "You... you mean like a detonator?"

"Very like."

Carth swung his head around, looking for the colored schematic of the shipyard, his eyes searching for the moving ribbons of the trains. He barely noticed Dustil and Revan had left their seats and were standing near him.

There were four different trains, each moving along their channels in their designated areas. Now various pieces of data came together in Carth's mind, presenting their smug conclusions.

He knew now why he'd seen Silam developing tibanna gas as a power source. Compact and innocuous, they could take out entire sections of the shipyard if detonated. It wouldn't need a powerful source of energy, with an easily detected signature. It would be child's play for someone to smuggle them on and attach them. They might be able to evacuate the affected areas, but it would leave the door wide open for the Sith.

Carth exchanged horrified looks with Versenne and Morin.

"Our demolitions experts are away, making mines," Versenne said, looking sick and pale. "And we only have two, not nearly enough."

_I can disarm mines, but there's no way I can abandon my post. I need to supervise the mine laying and coordinate with the indie miners._ He rather doubted Revan had the same expertise, even if she could remember - her commands had been carried out at the highest level, and this was not within her sphere of knowledge.

Carth's mind raced. The bombs couldn't be too complex, otherwise it would be too difficult to arm them. They had to be simple enough because anyone could walk in on them on those trains. It should - _should_ - be simple to disarm.

As though pulled on a tractor beam, Carth's head turned and he stared at Revan; she knew how to disarm mines, too. Then his gaze went inexorably to her bandaged hands. _Frak._ There was no way she could handle the delicate business in that condition.

"I could help," Dustil said. "She can tell me what to do."

The shock of hearing Dustil willing to be ordered around by Revan was buried under the immediate denial. Carth barely kept the shout from escaping his lips: _No, you can't! You're not going anywhere_ near _ any bombs! Or you're grounded! For life! I mean it, mister!_

Dustil continued to look him in the eyes, not saying anything. Probably because he knew what his father would say.

"We haven't much time," Morin was saying to Versenne as he grabbed up some tools. "The two techs will return at all possible speed and take trains Shen and Osk. I'll take Mern. Right now we've halted them as a precaution in case they respond to movement, but they're all at different parts of the station and not at the central hub. I'll try to reach Resh after I get done with Mern." Gloomily he added, "I will be cutting it quite close."

"I've sent guards after this Silam," Versenne said. "We will find out if he is a Sayir agent - either way we will find out more details about these devices."

"Go!" Carth said; it was almost a shout. It startled them all. Cold sweat trickled down his spine.

"Nasi?" Morin said, hands stilled in the process of stuffing his tools in pockets.

"Nami knows what to do," Carth snapped, fear making him irritable. He turned back to his son. "Be careful - both of you." He emphasized this with a powerful grip on his son's shoulder and shaking him. Dustil's head wagged back and forth with the force of it.

"Come on, we'd better get started," Revan said as she headed for the door. Carth let go of Dustil, and he followed her out.

Carth gripped the edges of the console with shaking hands and stared fiercely at his displays, doing his best to immerse himself in the work. But his thoughts kept galloping after Revan and his son, keeping pace with them as they ran flat-out through gleaming, sterile corridors into danger, without him at their side.

* * *

With thanks to Prisoner 24601 for beta reading and giving me valuable feedback.


End file.
